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Their lips touched its 


crispy outer edge. 









CAN YOU BELIEVE ME 
STORIES 


By 

Alicia Aspinwall 

Author of “The Echo Maid,” “Short Stories for Short People,” etc. 



New York 

E. P. Dutton & Company 

31 West Twenty-Third Street 


,t\^' 


Copyright, 1909 

BY 

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 


TTbe fmfcfeerbecfcer press, Pew ®orft 


©CI.A25134I 


TO 

PHILIP CHANNING ASPINWALL 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

1. The Irrepressible Pie 1 

2. The Furnace Who Made a Mistake. . 21 

3. The Canary- Dog. 39 

4. In the Plate -Country 66 

5. Prince Bursten oudt Larrfen. ... 86 

6. The Laughing Horse 108 

7. Please 127 

8. The Clock-Tick Who Ran Away. . . 134 

9. The Bad-Tempered Knife 155 

10. The Naughtiness of Number Nine. . 169 

11. Yarg 178 

12. The Walking Boy 208 

13. ‘‘Chinny.” 249 

14. The Child Improver 304 

vii 


Vlll 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

15. Louise’s Mischief Day 333 

16. The Worsted Dog 348 

17. The Story of the Ceiling People. . . 366 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 


Philip was perched on a chair in the 
kitchen watching Katie make an apple-pie 
for dinner. Katie was called away for a 
moment, and no sooner had she left the 
kitchen, than what do you suppose Philip 
did? He climbed down and walked to a 
side-table, on which lay a package marked 
in very plain letters — “self-raising 
flour.” 

A few days before, the grocer had left this 
package for the cook to try. It was a new 
kind of flour, and wonderfully powerful, so 
powerful, in fact, that only a tiny speck was 
to be used each time. 

Now into this package Philip plunged his 
naughty little hand and took out a monstrous 


2 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

big handful, which he quickly threw into poor 
Katie’s pastry ! Then he took the roller and 
began rolling and rolling as hard as he 
could ! He had no idea what it was that he 
had put into the pastry, for he could n’t read, 
but he knew perfectly well that he had done 
something which he ought not to have done. 

When innocent Katie came back, she 
rolled out her pastry (little thinking what it 
now contained) and, spreading the crust on 
a nice deep plate, dropped in the apples, 
tucked them cozily under the top-crust, and 
finally put the pie in the oven to bake. 
Philip, looking on, grew red in the face, for 
he began to feel very badly for what he had 
done. Pretty soon, Katie sent him out of 
the hot kitchen, and away he went with a 
heavy heart. But this by no means ends 
the tale, which is not about a boy at all, but 
is in reality a “pie-story.” 

After the Pie was baked, Katie put it into 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 


3 


the pantry to cool and left the kitchen. 
Scarcely had she gone, when a most start- 
ling and unusual thing occurred : 

Something was the matter with the Pie ! 

It was beginning to act in a most un-pie- 
like way, and you will scarcely credit me 
when I tell you about it. After being left 
in the pantry, it lay quietly for a moment, 
on its roomy, comfortable plate on the shelf, 
and then — suddenly, it gave a queer little 
shiver, and began slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y to rise! 

You see Philip had stirred into it that new 
and wonderfully strong self-raising flour, 
and had used about twenty times as much 
as was necessary, and now it was beginning 
to work, was beginning to rise ! 

Up, up, up, went the Pie. 

“Wal, I do declare!” said the Apples, 
“we ’re goin’ up some, ain’t we?” (These 
were real country-apples from New Hamp- 
shire.) 


4 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“We are indeed,” agreed the Butter, 
“but that’s no new thing for me. I’m 
always ‘going up.’ ” 

“Well, we don’t look up to you,” re- 
marked the Nutmeg, spicily. 

“Friends, how sweet the air is, up here,” 
interrupted the kindly Sugar. As for the 
Self-Raising Flour, he said nothing, being 
out of breath, from his efforts. He had 
never been asked to do anything quite like 
this before, but he knew he was a “self- 
raiser” and he did not shirk his duty. 

Up and up they rose, until finally they 
reached the pantry-ceiling, and bumped 
crisply against it. 

“ Oh ! ” said the Ceiling, “you are burning 
me, Pie! Get down.” 

“I can’t” said he, “for I’ve swallowed 
some powerful raising-flour. It isn’t my 
fault, so keep cool ! ” 

“Gee, I like that ! ” said the Ceiling angrily. 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 


5 


“It’s you who ought to keep cool. How 
can / do it, with red-hot Pie bumping 
me?” 

“You speak reasonably,” said the Pie 
(who was a just Pie). “But tell me, what 
can I do about it?” 

“Say, that’s the talk, ain’t it?” said the 
Apples, “what can we do ’bout it?” 

“I’m perfectly willing to do what’s right,” 
said the Self-Raising Flour apologetically. 
“I know, fellers, that I don’t belong here, 
but being here, I must raise." So up they 
soared, while the poor Ceiling moaned, in a 
heart-rending manner. 

A new Tin Pan, by all odds the brightest 
creature in the pantry, remarked here dryly : 

“If you had any sense whatever, you 
would leave ; go out of the window (which 
is wide-open) and then soar to your heart’s 
content.” 

“Yes, do,” snapped a Skewer, “and the 


6 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


farther off you soar, the better,” he added — 
pointedly. 

‘‘The Pie itself was pleased at the Pan’s 
suggestion, and so was the Flour, who 
stopped raising for a moment, to consider. 

“Yes, I think we ’ll go,” he whispered, so 
the Pie dropped down a bit, and teetered 
sideways toward the window. 

“Here, here,” shouted a piece of Cheese, 
“I must go too !” 

“Why?” inquired the Pie. 

“ Because cheese always goes with apple- 
pie.” 

“Not with this one,” came the answer. 

“Please take me, I’ll help — I’m very 
strong,” pleaded the Cheese. To this the 
Pie made no answer, but floated away, fol- 
lowed by a chorus of glad “ good-byes ” from 
the Pantry-people. 

“Oh, what a relief!” cried the Pie. 

“’Tis so, it’s el’gunt, ain’t it, particularly 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 7 

when you’re as het up as we be?” remarked 
the Country-apples. 

“I was simply melting, in there,” said the 



The Pie floated away, followed by a chorus of 
good-byes from the Pantry-people. 


Butter crossly, while the Sugar and Nutmeg 
said nothing — as they were both fast asleep. 
“Here at last I have a chance to show 


8 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

my wonderful powers,” said the Self- 
Raising Flour enthusiastically, and he im- 
mediately shot upward, three quarters of a 
mile ! 

Having soared so high, at the poor dizzy 
Pie’s suggestion, he kindly came down again 
nearer the earth, where he floated lazily, 
about five feet from the ground. Here 
some boys caught sight of him, and although 
they had none of them ever seen pie served 
up in the air, still — pie was pie, under all 
conditions, and ,they made a rush for it! 
But — the Self-Raising Flour got in his work 
at once, and up shot the Pie house-high, 
while the disappointed boys gazed after it 
with watering mouths. 

“Say! Let’s tease ’em some. Come 
on, let’s,” suggested the Country-apples, 
giggling. 

“The Pie laughed juicily and consented, 
and the fun began. Slowly it dropped to- 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 


9 


ward the earth, while the four boys danced 
with excitement. 

“She’s coming, she’s coming!’’ they 
shouted. Bit by bit, it lowered itself ; then, 
when within a couple of inches of being 
caught, up it shot again ! This was repeated 
over and over, until the Pie was exhausted 
from laughing, and the poor little boys weak 
from excitement. At last, moving up and 
down in graceful salutation, the polite Pie 
sailed once more upward, and this time did 
not return. Flying low, it stole noiselessly 
through a quiet side-street, and, leaving the 
scolding boys behind, disappeared from sight. 
Then out into the busy main street of the 
town it hurried, arousing everywhere the 
greatest astonishment and fear. 

“What is it?” inquired every one at 
first. 

“Why — it looks like a — of course it can’t 
be, but — yes it is too, it ’s a Pie ! That ’s 


io CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


just what it is, an apple-pie , floating all by 
itself up in the air ! ” 

“Where all pastry ought to be,” snapped 
a cross old doctor. 

“ But see here, friends, I can’t have this sort 
of thing happening in our peaceful town,” 
said the mayor sternly. “It has no permit, 
in the first place, and I cannot allow unli- 
censed pies to stalk through the air. Ar- 
rest it , at once ! ” 

“It must be contrary to law,” said one. 

“Of course it is, it ’s a disturber of the 
peace,” added another. 

All sorts of schemes were now suggested, 
to induce the Pie to come down and be 
caught, but the case was a difficult and un- 
usual one, and none proved successful, for 
there it remained, floating lazily back and 
forth, about thirty feet from the ground. 
Sometimes it would soar very high, and a 
groan would arise from the now dense 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 


ii 


crowd. Then it would suddenly swoop down 
with a delirious rush towards the hands eager- 
ly outstretched to welcome it — but always 
stopping just out of reach ! 

Oh, little boys and girls, leading your 
happy sheltered lives, be thankful, the next 
time you have apple-pie for dinner, that it 
was not made as this one was ! 

What with shouting, laughing, and con- 
fusion, all through the town, the morning 
wore on, and finally the Pie became tired, 
and sailed away out of the village, over the 
fields and waving tree-tops, past herds of 
placid grazing cows, who looked up at it, 
without the slightest interest or curiosity. 
Provided the grass was good, they did n’t 
care how many pies flew by ! 

At noon, the Pie rested for an hour, on a 
clean stone, by the side of a pretty lake, 
which spent the entire day whispering to the 
credulous listening trees on its shores. 


12 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

Refreshed by its much-needed rest, it next 
sailed back to its native town. Now I am 
going to tell you a secret — something that 
is not generally known : At heart, it is the 
strong wish of every decent pie to be eaten, 
and this particular one was no exception. 
So before long, the Country-apples said : 

“Say, fellers, I’m tired. Let’s allow the 
next children we meet to eat us? I jest 
love children. They ’re awful cute, ain’t 
they?” 

“ I agree with you, Apples,” answered the 
Pie, “it ’s high time for us to be eaten. I 
should prefer, too, to have children do it, for 
I myself love little people. You know the 
old saying : 

“What makes the Pie love Children so?” 

The eager people say. 

“ Because the Children love the Pie, 

And eat it night and day.” 

The Self-Raising Flour, feeling that he had 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 


13 


proved now, to every one’s satisfaction, that 
he was without a rival in the “raising busi- 
ness” agreed with the others, and tried to 
wake up the Butter, Nutmeg, and Sugar, but 
they were hopelessly asleep. 

“Let us,” said the Pie, “rest here on this 
roof, until we see some attractive-looking 
children ! ” (For even if one is only a pie, 
you know, it does make a big difference who 
eats one.) 

So there on the roof they sat, while 
several uninteresting grown people passed 
through the street. 

Then came the pleasant sound of children’s 
voices, and the Pie floated down. Could 
anything have been better arranged? 

For there, in the middle of the quiet road, 
were three dear little girls — Katherine 
Townsend, Mary-Gordon, and Anne 
Williams — who, with hands clasped, were 
dancing round and round in a circle ! 


i 4 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


Into this small group stole the Pie, and 
remained suspended, just mouth-high ! The 
three children caught sight of the strange 
object at the same moment. 

“Ah! Oh! Ugh!” said they, and no- 
thing more, but they began narrowing the 
circle, approaching nearer and nearer each 
other — and the Pie. They knew what it 
was, of course, and that it was an unusual 
thing to meet an apple-pie floating along 
like that — at exactly the right eating-height, 
too ! But there it was, and there they were, 
and — finally, their lips had touched its crispy 
outer edge, and three little mouths opened 
wide, while ninety-six small white teeth 
crunched bravely toward the middle ! There 
was no one in sight, silence was about them, 
and so eat-ing, eat-ing, eat-ing steadily, the 
three small heads gradually approached 
each other. Finally, as the children were 
careful and ate evenly, the exact middle of 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 15 

the Pie was reached, the little girls’ lips 
touched, and there remained nothing more, 
for Katherine, Mary-Gordon, and Anne had 
eaten every crumb, every single scrap, of 
the most astounding Pie that had ever been 
made ! ! 

Now, when this thing happened, the 
three little girls were on their way to a 
party, dressed in their best — Katherine in 
blue, Mary-Gordon in pink, and Anne all 
in white. After finishing the Pie, the three 
children said, “Ah! Oh! Ugh!” again, 
and then went on to the party, soon reaching 
the house where it was to be given. They 
all went up at once to say “ How do you do?” 
to the lady, and Katherine held out her hand 
politely, and Mary-Gordon held out her hand 
politely, and Anne began to hold out her — 
when what, oh what do you think hap- 
pened ? One hates to speak of it, but those 
three poor little, dear little girls began 


i6 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


slowly, s-l-o-w-l-y to rise on their toes! 
They made every effort to keep themselves 
down on the floor, but they simply could 
n’t do it! 

For you see, the irrepressibly strong 
Self-raising Flour (who was, at bottom, 
awfully vain) had not been able to resist 
showing people what he could do ! 

So the three unfortunate little girls began 
to float upward, their frightened cries filling 
the room. Up, up they went, now as high 
as the table, as a tall lamp near, now above 
it, and up still farther until at last their 
heads bumped gently against the ceiling 
itself. By this time, the whole house was 
in an uproar, all the children crying, the 
mammas and papas running back and 
forth, telephoning for doctors, and hold- 
ing down their own children; for, not know- 
ing what the matter was, every one feared 
that the trouble might be contagious, and 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 


i7 


that his child might be the next one to be 
afflicted. 

The parents of the unfortunate girls 
themselves were summoned, and were 
soon on the scene. A tall step-ladder was 
procured, and the sobbing children taken 
down and tenderly placed on the floor, but 
no sooner were they there when, alas ! they 
again r-o-s-e slowly until they reached the 
ceiling ! 

Finding that nothing further happened, 
however, and having now gotten over their 
first fright, they stopped crying at last, and 
asked if they might have some ice-cream 
and cake ? This their parents gladly gave, 
mounting the step-ladder to reach them. 
While they were eating, the parents and 
the doctors were anxiously consulting — try- 
ing to think of some way of bringing their 
three children to the ground again, and 
keeping them there, permanently. 


8 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


Just then, the Youngest Boy at the party 
came into the room. 

“Oh,” said he, “I used to have a whole 
family of make-belive people on the ceiling, 
when I was littler.” 

“Then, Philip,” called Katherine, “if you 
had even that kind of a family up here, you 
ought to know a great deal about ceilings.” 

“I do” said he. 

“Won’t you help us then?” cried the 
three children, from above. 

“I know of one thing you might do,” 
said Philip, “and I think it would work. 
It is a simple easy thing to try, anyway.” 

“Oh, speak then, tell us what to do?” 
cried all the mammas and papas together. 

“Well,” said he, “I think the girls will 
come down, if you wrap three down-com- 
forters about them.” 

“ Now, that is a mighty good idea,” cried 
the doctors, enthusiastically. 


THE IRREPRESSIBLE PIE 


19 


“But if they do come down,” in- 
quired one anxious mother, “the question 
is, will they stay down ? It would be a 
terrible thing, if they had to go through 
life wrapped in down-comforters!” 

“I don’t think they will have to do 
that” said Philip. 

“ Let us try — let us try his remedy, at 
once ! ” cried all the mammas and papas; 
so the comforters were procured and, from 
the ladder’s top, wrapped carefully about 
the children, who were still bump bump- 
ing against the ceiling. 

And the result was wonderful — magi- 
cal, in fact, for almost immediately, the 
three little girls began to float slowly 
down, until they stood once more firmly 
upon the floor, where they removed the 
comforters and remained without rising 
again, while their weeping parents kissed 
them tenderly. 


20 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

Now there were three reasons why this 
wonderful thing had happened. In the 
first place, in lifting these heavy children, 
the Self-raising Flour had used up all his 
remaining strength. Secondly, he had 
recognized in Philip the same little boy 
who had thrown him into the Pie in the 
morning, and he thought the child had 
suffered enough. But the third — and the 
most powerful — reason was this: that 
when a down-comforter is wrapped about 
any one who is up on the ceiling, that 
person has got to pay some attention to 
it. For after all, say what you will, a 
down-comforter (provided it is a genuine 
one, is always a down-comiovttv ! 


THE FURNACE 
WHO MADE A MISTAKE 

Once upon a time, there was a Walker 
& Pratt Furnace, who lived in the cellar of 
a house in Brookline. He understood his 
business, sent out his heat generously, and 
with the help of many hard-working, ener- 
getic pipes, which turned and cork-screwed 
their way all over the house, he kept the 
place as warm as two pieces of toast. He 
led a happy secluded life, until one day 
he unfortunately happened to overhear 
something. 

On this particular day, Richard, the man, 
came to attend to the Furnace as usual, and 
with him was his little son. Now Dick 
was a boy who asked questions all the time, 


21 


22 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


stopping only long enough to think up 
new ones. He scarcely ever opened his 
mouth that a question did n’t get itself 
asked ! Sometimes his poor father and 
mother grew so tired answering him, that 
they had to sit down and rest ! 

This morning, just as soon as his father had 
opened the cellar-door, the little boy began : 

“Is this the cellar, Pa? Why is it the 
cellar? What makes it so big? What is 
the name of the man that built it, Pa ? My, 
it ’s awful dark, is n’t it? Where does the 
dark go to, in the daytime ? Where ’s the 
furnace? What’s//^*/, Pa? 

As he asked this last question, he 
stopped, quite out of breath, and pointed 
to a saw-horse, which stood near the 
Furnace. 

“That? Well, that, my son, is a horse," 
said the father patiently, little dreaming 
what terrible mischief this one answer was 


FURNACE WHO MADE A MISTAKE 23 

going to cause. After filling the water- 
tank, and shaking and feeding the Furnace 
with fresh coal, the man went off, holding 
the hand of little Dick, who was asking two 
questions at every step. 

The Furnace was left alone, but he was 
no longer the same, for in those few mo- 
ments, while the man had been talking 
with his boy, a mighty change had come 
over him. This is what had happened: 

When little Dick had pointed at the 
wooden saw-horse, and had said “What ’s 
that?" the Furnace, not being able to see 
very well in the dark cellar, and knowing 
that he was the most important thing there, 
thought, of course, that the boy was speak- 
ing of him , and expected the father to an- 
swer, “My son, that is a furnace”; and 
when instead he heard him say, “That is a 
horse," he was at first so surprised, that he 
almost fell down ! 


24 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“I was n’t mistaken,” he said to himself, 
“ I heard him say plainly and unmistakably, 
‘That is a horse.' Sparks and cinders, 
think of it!” he cried, “up to now, I have 
always considered myself a Furnace ! ” He 
trembled with excitement. “Of course, 
that man ought to know what he ’s talking 
about, so if he says I ’m a horse, why, then 
— then — of course, I must be a horse I” 

All through that long day he thought 
about it, until he became so nervous that 
he almost put his fire out. (No fire burns 
well in a nervous furnace.) 

When night came, he was unable to 
sleep. “What a mistake I have made — 
to think that all this time I should have 
believed myself to be a Furnace, when I 
was really and truly a horse ! ” he muttered. 
“ Here I have stood patiently for years, 
heating this house, when I ought to have 
been prancing about, and leading the happy 


FURNACE WHO MADE A MISTAKE 25 

free life of a horse!” He was vexed (as I 
daresay most of us would have been). 

Finally, having worked himself into a 
terrible state of excitement, he rebelled 
utterly at doing furnace-work any more, 
and made up his mind to go away. He 
decided that he would go to some stable 
that very night, and live there with the 
horses, where he belonged. 

It was cold, and when Richard, the 
furnace-man, came in the afternoon, he 
made a fine hot fire. 

The early night-hours passed, and at 
about twelve, after the house had grown 
perfectly quiet, the Furnace gathered him- 
self together and bade a tender farewell 
to each pipe. He was sad at the thought 
of parting, for he was strongly attached 
to them all. But finally he was ready, 
and with some difficulty tore himself away 
from the brick base, where he had lived 


26 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


happily for so many years. He then 
rolled ponderously toward the cellar door, 
and found it locked! “Unlock!” he 
commanded loudly, and the Key was so 
terribly frightened at being spoken to by 
a Furnace, that she rolled completely over! 

“Open!” said the Furnace next, and 
the big Door sprang open at once. When 
the bitter cold struck him, the Furnace 
shrank together, and became so small that 
he was able to squeeze himself through the 
opening, without difficulty. Then down 
the steps into the yard he blundered nois- 
ily, and started on his journey: roll, wad- 
dle, bump, bang! Waddle, clash, clang! 
He could not walk quietly, being so hol- 
low and metallic; still, considering that 
this was his first attempt, he did marvel- 
lously well. 

As he proceeded, he found that practice 
was making him perfect, for he walked 


FURNACE WHO MADE A MISTAKE 27 

with more ease and grace. (He was a 
“ Walker- Pratt Furnace,” and of course 
the “Walker” part was a great help.) 

“I wonder,” he said at last, “where 
those stables are?” 

At that moment, he caught sight of a 
big black Cat, who was sitting on a fence, 
asleep. He knew cats well, having cher- 
ished several of them. In fact, one cat 
and he had brought up a charming family 
of kittens, in the cellar. So he approached 
this one and spoke to her. 

“ Hulloa, Cat,” he cried, “will you kindly 
tell me where lean find a good stable?” 

At this, the Cat gave a great jump, and 
was about to run, when she happened to 
look up, and saw who it was who had 
spoken to her. She was then so amazed 
that she was quite unable to move. 

“What d-d-did you say?” she stam- 
mered. 


28 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


The Furnace repeated his question. 

“Go straight down this hill, and take the 
first turn to the right,” said she nervously. 



‘Hullo, Cat,” he cried . . . 


“It ’s the second building on the left — a 
big white one. But, pardon me, would 
you mind telling me who you are, and 
where you came from ? I have seen many 


FURNACE WHO MADE A MISTAKE 29 

strange things in my life, but I certainly 
never met a walking-furnace before ! ” 

“I’m not a Furnace,” was the indignant 
answer. 

“I beg your pardon,” said the Cat po- 
litely, “what are you, then?” 

“Can’t you see? I’m a Horse,” said the 
Furnace, solemnly. 

At this, the Cat was greatly amused, 
but she gave no sign. (Cats never share 
their jokes with anybody.) 

“Ah, you ’re a Horse, are you?” she 
said, after a moment’s hesitation. “Well 
— perhaps you are, although to be sure 
you certainly do not look like one.” 

“ Don’t I ? ” asked the Furnace, somewhat 
crestfallen, “I wonder why? I know I am 
a Horse, and supposed of course that I 
looked like one. But, to tell you the honest 
truth, Cat, I don’t know how they ought to 
look, for I never saw a horse in my life ! ” 


30 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

The Cat was intensely interested, and 
seeing this, the Furnace confided his story 
to her. 

“Now,” said she, after it was over, 
“my advice to you is to go home again. 
I have some cousins, who are stable-cats, 
and so I happen to know a great deal 
about Horses, and the lives they lead. I 
strongly urge you, sir, not to go to them. 
Come now — go home.” 

“ I won’t ! ” snapped the Furnace. I ’m a 
Horse, and I’m going to live in a stable.” 

“Very well, do so,” said this very wise 
Cat, who knew how useless it was to argue 
with a furnace. “ Go your way,” she con- 
tinued, “but if you will allow me, as a 
friend, to add a word of advice, I should 
suggest your first getting rid of those coals. 
No horse ever carries red-hot coals inside 
himself.” 

“Does n’t he?” asked the Furnace, anx- 


FURNACE WHO MADE A MISTAKE 31 

iously; “if that is so, I’d better spit ’em 
right out.” This he proceeded to do, open- 
ing wide his door-jaws, and scattering the 
hot coals in the snow, which sizzled with 
rage, and “S-s-pit, s-s-pit” back at him! 

Then bidding his friend the Cat a grate- 
ful good-bye, the Furnace hurried down 
the hill toward the stable, his open door 
clank-ity-ankiting noisily, from side to side, 
at each step. As soon as he had turned 
the corner, the Cat smiled, stretched her- 
self luxuriously, and, jumping to the side- 
walk, lay down near (but not too near) the 
warm coals, where she was soon fast 
asleep. 

The Furnace, feeling lighter and freer, 
went clattering along the side-street until he 
saw the big white building of which the Cat 
had spoken. Walking up to the entrance 
he found the wide door closed, and said 
loudly," Open! ” and this one, like the other, 


32 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


obeyed immediately (no Door can resist a 
Furnace, when it speaks with decision). 

Waddling into the stable, the big fellow 
stood silently for a moment, looking about. 
The door meanwhile had closed itself neatly 
behind him. 

“ B-r-rr! ” remarked the Furnace, at last, 
clearing its iron throat, with a loud rasping 
noise. “Are the — are the Horses at home, 
may I ask?” 

They were at home, twenty of them — and 
they all waked up immediately, when they 
heard the strange metallic voice. 

“Who are you?” they asked. 

“lam a Horse,” came the proud answer, 
“and I’ve come to this stable to live with 
you. How d’ye do?” 

At this, all the animals turned round and 
looked at him, standing alone under the one 
lamp. 

“Well!” they shouted in surprise, “well, 


FURNACE WHO MADE A MISTAKE 33 

well, if it isn’t a Furnace , a real one. Just 
look at it!” 

“I was a Furnace, gentlemen, but I’m 
not one now,” was the indignant answer. 
“ No indeed, I am a Horse , although it was 
only yesterday that I found it out.” 

At this everybody laughed, while the 
Furnace trembled with rage. Finally, at 
their questioning, he told the whole story, 
after which they all advised him to go 
straight back to his cellar. 

“You say you had plenty of coals to eat, 
up there?” asked one. 

“Yes,” he admitted. 

“Water to drink, too?” 

“Yes, they filled my water-tank faithfully.” 

“And you worked only in winter?” 

“Well, you see, through the warm wea- 
ther they gave me a vacation,” said he. 

“ Would that we had all been born Fur- 
naces,” said the Horses, bitterly. This sur- 


34 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

prised the Furnace somewhat, but, although 
they proceeded to tell him of the hard lives 
they led, and tried to induce him to return, 
it was in vain, for, as I said, he was a true 
Furnace, and incurably obstinate. 

Finally one wise old Horse said gently : 

“Very well, stay here if you will, though 
of course, if you do, your family up there 
will have to put in another Furnace in your 
place, and right away too, as it is so cold.” 

“What?” roared the Furnace, suddenly 
enraged. “Put another one in my place? 
They’d never dare to! I won’t have it! I 
won’t permit it! I’ll — I’ll go home first! 

“ Neigh, neigh,” said the old Horse 
gently, “if you are what you say you are, 
why do you care what they do, up there?” 

At this, the twenty Horses gave a regular 
horse-laugh, while the Furnace shook his 
iron sides angrily, till the stable echoed 
with the tumult. 


FURNACE WHO MADE A MISTAKE 35 


The man who slept in the room above, 
hearing the commotion, hurried down, whip 
in hand, to see what the trouble was, and 
there, in the dim light, he caught sight of 
the Furnace ! 

“Get out of here!” he shouted, and, half 
asleep as he was, never stopped to think 
of the strangeness of finding a Furnace 
standing there right in the middle of the 
floor ! 

He ran to the door, which he threw wide 
open. “ Get out !” he repeated. 

But the Furnace stood his ground. 

Then the man lifted his whip, threaten- 
ingly. 

“Fly, Fly!” warned the twenty Horses. 

“Get out, or I ’llbeatyou!” roared the man, 
who was really a very unpleasant person. 

“Beat me? You can’t do it,” said the 
Furnace, triumphantly. “The Walker-Pratt 
Furnace can’t be beaten. Master says so.” 


36 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


The man paid no attention to this, how- 
ever, for whack! came the whip on the 
poor Furnace’s side, making a deep dent. 
Then whack ! down it came again ! 

Of course, with his iron skin, the Furnace 
felt nothing, and was n’t really injured, but 
his feelings were terribly hurt, and, being 
sensitive at heart, he at once made up his 
mind to leave this place — where he had not 
received a cordial welcome, and where he 
was evidently not appreciated ! 

So out he rolled noisily, the door shutting 
quickly behind him. The man, still more 
than half asleep, stumbled to his bed again, 
and when he woke up the next day, and 
tried to think what strange thing it was 
that had happened in the early morning- 
hours, he could not remember, and 
thought it must have been a dream— and 
so he never spoke of it, to anybody. 

Meanwhile, the poor disappointed Fur- 


FURNACE WHO MADE A MISTAKE 37 

nace clanck-ancked and clatter-attered his 
way up the hill, as quickly as he could, for he 
was more troubled than he was willing to 
own, at the thought of his family’s finding 
that he was gone, and getting a strange 
Furnace to take his place. 

It was just beginning to be light, but, 
as it was a dull gray day, he fortunately 
met no one — even the friendly Cat had 
gone. Reaching the place where he had 
dropped his coal, he picked it up again 
as well as he could, and waddled his 
way along to his own door, which 
promptly opened for him. 

Once inside, he received a royal wel- 
come — a welcome which warmed the poor 
fellow’s heart. 

With some difficulty, he pulled himself 
up onto his base, attached himself to the 
pipes as well as he could, and then await- 
ed anxiously the coming of the man. He 


38 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


arrived at six o’clock, and when he looked 
at the Furnace, its fire out, broken away 
from its pipes, covered with mud and 
dirt, and deeply dented on one side, he 
almost fainted! 

The master of the house came down, 
and the two talked it over, examining the 
Furnace, and trying to explain matters, 
but in vain. For the Cat, the twenty 
Horses, and the Furnace himself were 
the only ones who could have explained, 
and they — never said a word! 


THE CANARY-DOG 


There was once a beautiful little canary, 
who lived in a golden cage in a sunny win- 
dow. Pleasant green plants grew and 
blossomed about him. He was very happy, 
for he had a kind mistress who gave him 
plenty of seeds, nice fresh water, a crisp 
piece of cuttle-fish, and a bath every two days. 

He sang and sang, for he was glad to be 
in such a beautiful world. Besides his 
big mistress, he had two little twin-girl 
ones, Rose and Elizabeth, who looked so 
exactly alike that they sometimes could not 
tell each other apart ! They were both kind 
to the bird, bringing him bits of celery, 
lettuce, and chick-weed, and never frighten- 
ing him. 


39 


40 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

One spring, a family moved into the 
big empty house opposite, and they brought 
with them three dogs. A big one, named 
“Jack,” a middling-sized one, “Laddie,” 
and a wee brown one, whose name was 
“Snuff.” All three lived happily together, 
in a fine big dog-house facing the street, and 
they were very interesting, for they played 
and romped together the whole long day. 

Jack was a sensible old fellow, who said 
but little; Laddie, more talkative, asked 
many questions of Jack, who occasionally 
answered. As for Snuff, the Yorkshire 
terrier, he was never still for one single 
instant. He was either racing about the 
place, chasing cats and birds, or asking in 
a funny little shrill voice, the most absurd 
questions, which he was obliged to answer 
himself, as no one else would. 

Now from the time these three beautiful 
dogs arrived, little Vitzt (the yellow canary, 


THE CANARY-DOG 


4i 


in the opposite house) was so delighted 
that he could n’t bear to take his eyes from 
them. He forgot to sing; he almost for- 
got to eat his seeds, and would sit for hours 
on his top perch, his round beady eyes star- 
ing eagerly at the fascinating dog-family. 

He thought constantly of them, and when 
night came, and the darkness hid everything, 
he would try to imagine what they were do- 
ing. Then he began to wish that he too, 
were a dog, and to long to be one. Finally, 
he thought of nothing else but this, all 
through the day, while at night he would 
dream of it ! Now, to keep one’s mind 
fixed steadily on any one thing is dangerous, 
for it sometimes happens that something 
happens, and — in this case, it happened 
that something did happen! 

For one fine morning, at daybreak, this 
little bird opened his eyes, looked down 
at himself and found — what do you think 


42 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

he found ? That some time during the dark 
night, while he had been thinking and 
dreaming that he was a dog, he had actually 
— become one! Yes, turned himself into a 
funny, wee dog ! He was fuzzy, fluffy, and 
very yellow, and just the size of a canary, 
but he was, nevertheless, a really, truly dog, 
with four legs, a new tail, and two nice 
fresh ears ! Of course, he was greatly sur- 
prised at what had occurred, and at first, 
terribly frightened too, but watching care- 
fully, and finding that nothing further hap- 
pened, he began to feel very proud of 
himself. 

Soon his mistress came to the cage as 
usual, and when she saw him she started 
back with a cry of astonishment. 

“Why, what’s this? Where is Vitzt?” 
she cried. “ Where did this strange little 
creature come from ? I do not understand 
it, at all ! ” 


THE CANARY-DOG 


43 


And indeed she did n’t, for no one 
could, you see (and nobody ever did !). 

Rose and Elizabeth were wild with 
delight, when they saw the wee yellow dog 
which had come so mysteriously through 
the night, and which now stood wobbling 
about uncertainly on the bottom of the cage. 

“You darling fluff-ball,” cried Elizabeth. 

“You yellow pet,” echoed Rose, while 
Vitzt became prouder and prouder of him- 
self. Finally, he lifted his dog-head, 
opened his mouth and — 

“The cunning thing ! Look ! He ’s go- 
ing to bark, ’’cried Rose, but instead of that, 
from the little quivering throat, there came 
the old familiar canary-song ! 

After the first few notes, mamma and the 
children began to laugh, and they laughed 
till they cried, for it certainly was a ridicu- 
lous and unusual thing, to hear a canary- 
song come trilling and bubbling from a 


44 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

wee dog’s mouth. But Vitzt did n’t like to 
be laughed at, so he stopped singing, gave 
two indignant little barks, and hopped 
sullenly to a perch. On this he tried to 
stand, swaying dizzily from side to side, 



then — finding that he could not keep his 
footing, — down he flopped to the bottom of 
the cage again, where he lay in a surprised 
little heap, looking up longingly at the 
pleasant perches above. Mamma, mean- 
while, had been filling the seed- and water- 
dishes. 



THE CANARY-DOG 


45 


Vitzt took a mouthful of the seeds, which 
somehow did n’t seem to have that nice, usual 
taste, to-day. 

Finally, a dish of warm milk was placed 
before him, and he lapped it up eagerly, 
with his fresh little tongue, and liked it. 
That is, the dog-half of him did, while 
the bird-half continued to nibble an 
occasional seed! That day he remained 
in the cage, for mamma (who made a shrewd 
guess at the true state of the case) thought 
he had better get used to being a dog, in his 
old home, before he began to lead a dog’s 
life, outside. 

The two little girls, although they obeyed 
their mother and didn’t touch him, were so 
fascinated by the queer yellow Canary-dog 
that they stayed in the room all day watch- 
ing him, being much amused when he tried, 
as he did again and again, to stand on his 
perch. 


46 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

When he sang his song, with the funny 
gruff little “Bow-wow” at the end, they 
laughed heartily, too. 

Vitzt’s feelings were hurt at this, however, 
and he finally made up his mind that he 
would bear it no longer, that he would 
escape from the house at the first opportu- 
nity, run across the street and stay with 
the Opposite Dogs. 

“Live, as a dog should live,” he said 
proudly, and chirped gaily at the pleasant 
thought. Then suddenly a part of his 
back, began to move slowly from side to 
side ! 

At this new sensation, he crouched, 
terribly frightened. 

Soon, gaining courage, however, he 
peered round cautiously, and found that it 
was his own tail, which had been trying to 
wag itself! 

“Upon my word, ” said he, “it is certainly 


THE CANARY-DOG 


47 


delightful to have a tail of one’s own, and 
one that moves so easily, too. I remember 
now, that I have often seen the Opposite 
Dogs wag their tails from side to side, when 
they were happy. ” 

He tried several times, and was greatly 
pleased to find that the tail wagged with 
ease and freedom, whenever he wished it 
to do so. He watched the Opposite Dogs 
now, with redoubled interest, all through 
the long afternoon, feeling delighted at the 
thought that he would soon be with them. 

The hours seemed to hurry along quick- 
ly, during his first dog-day in the world, 
the night soon came — and with it a diffi- 
culty. For the Canary-dog wanted to go 
to bed, to go to sleep — and the poor little 
fellow didn't know how ! All through his 
canary-life, you see, when sleep-time came, 
he had simply hopped onto a perch, curled 
up one leg, stood firmly on the other, and 


48 CAN YOU BELEIVE ME STORIES 

tucked his dear little head under his dear 
little wing, as tidily as possible (which was 
certainly an easy and comfortable way for 
anybody to go to bed.) 

“Now, what am I to do?” he thought, 
sadly. “I don’t see how I can sleep at all 
to-night, for, although I still have a head, I 
haven’t any wings, nor even a few feathers 
under which to hide it. Then, O dear!” 
he continued, looking down at himself in 
dismay, “what am I to do with all those 
extra legs? I can’t get rid of them, and 
I can’t possibly tuck up so many ! ” 

It was indeed a problem. He tried to 
stand on one leg and hold up the other 
three, but found it an impossibility, for 
down he would fall, each time. 

Finally an idea came and, backing up to 
the high seed-dish, he rested his two hind 
legs firmly on that, and, propped in this 
ridiculous position, soon fell asleep. There 


THE CANARY-DOG 


49 


Mamma and the children found him, in the 
morning, and their shouts of laughter wak- 
ened him. He did look very funny, of 
course, but if they had known how it hurt 
his pride, they never would have laughed 
at him. At last, he made up his mind to 
run away, that very day. 

After his canary-dog breakfast of seeds 
and milk, he was taken out and put onto 
the floor, for exercise. Soon, with the 
mother’s permission, the children carried 
him down to the sunny piazza in a soft little 
basket. He bounded and hopped about 
there, in a ridiculous way, for, try as he 
would, he found it quite impossible to either 
walk or trot! 

When the children went to their dinner, 
he pretended to be very sleepy, crawled 
into his basket and shut his eyes, as if he 
were going to take a nap. 

But after they had gone, the little scamp 


50 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

hopped nimbly out, and went down the 
piazza steps, bump, bump, bump, onto the 
lawn — over which he quickly hurried ! 
The house-cat, hidden behind a bush, saw 
him rolling down the steps, and, thinking 
he was a yellow ball, rushed out to play. 
Looking more closely, she discovered that 
the ball was n’ t a ball at all — that it was 
very much alive. 

She then decided that it must be a new 
kind of yellow rat, which it was her duty to 
catch at once, so she stole stealthily after it. 
Reaching the front of the house, she saw 
the strange little creature just before her. 
But to her astonishment, instead of run- 
ning, it was leaping across the lawn, in a 
most un-rat-like manner, and still worse, 
chirping cheerfully to itself, as it went! 
This was too much for the cat. She became 
awfully frightened, and decided that what- 
ever kind of a creature it was, she wanted 


THE CANARY-DOG 


5i 


nothing whatever to do with it, and so, 
folding her tail neatly between her legs, old 
Puss ran up a tree ! 

Meanwhile, the Canary-dog, knowing 
nothing of all this, had crossed the road and 
reached the kennel. It looked very big, 
as he was so very small himself, but he 
bravely peeped through the opening, and 
there he saw wise old Jack, snoozing com- 
fortably. So black, so shaggy, so huge 
did he seem, however, that the poor yellow 
mite decided at once not to rouse him. 
Just then, Jack stretched himself, opened his 
eyes, and gave a yelp of astonishment. 

“Cats and dogs !” he shouted. “What 
do I see before me? Who are you?” 

“I am a little dog,” faltered poor Vitzt. 

“ A dog ? You — a dog? ” laughed Jack. 
“ Well, perhaps you are, little feller, though 
you don’t look much like one, and that’s a 
fact. In the first place, I never saw a dog 


5 2 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

your color, and then — you certainly don’t 
act like one,” for at the discouraging words 
the little creature had begun to hop quickly 
away. “Here, come back,” cried Jack, and 
Vitzt approached meekly. 

“Now, tell me about yourself,” com- 
manded the big dog. “Where did you 
come from, anyway?” 

The frightened Canary-dog, gaining con- 
fidence in studying Jack’s kind old face, 
told the story — of his having been a sing- 
ing canary, and of how, after having seen 
the charming dog-family, he had longed 
ardently to be one, himself. 

“A natural and proper wish,” interrupted 
Jack, at this point. 

Then Vitzt told how, by thinking, and 
imagining that he was a dog, he had waked 
up the day before to find that during the 
night he had, in some mysterious way, be- 


come one. 


THE CANARY-DOG 


53 


“Never in all my life did I hear such a 
strange story '’ was Jack’s comment, when 
the tale was over. “And now, what 
are you going to do ? What are your 
plans?” 

“ I came here, sir, to have you tell me 
what to do. I can no longer remain in a 
mere bird-cage, of course. I would like to 
— to live here with you, if you are willing 
to have me? You will know best; you 
seem to be a very wise dog.” 

“I am,” replied Jack, earnestly. 

“You look as if you knew everything, 
sir, ” added Vitzt. 

“I do,” admitted Jack, who began to like 
this funny little creature, “that is, every- 
thing that is worth knowing, I know, ” he 
added. “You did right to come to me, Lit- 
tle One. You want to be a first-rate dog, 
I suppose?” 

“Yes, please,” said Vitzt. 


54 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“You shall, for I myself will teach you,” 
announced Jack kindly. 

At this, Vitzt was so pleased that he 
threw back his head and burst into song ! 

But this was too much for big Jack, who, 
at the first notes, jumped to his feet, and 
stared at the wee dog, in utter amaze- 
ment ! 

“Gracious, stop that!” he cried, loudly. 
Poor Vitzt obeyed. “Dogs never sing. 
Come here, Little One 1 ” 

The Canary-dog approached. 

“Don’t hop like that,” continued Jack, 
irritably, “It ’s a perfectly ridiculous thing 
for a dog to do !” 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jack,” said Vitzt, sadly, 
“ but I hop because — I don’t know how to 
trot, yet.” 

“There, there!” said Jack kindly, “that 
will all come right in time. After all, you 
have n’t been a dog very long, and indeed 


THE CANARY-DOG 


55 


— you are not a very long dog, now!” At 
this joke, Jack laughed loudly. 

“Now listen,” he continued, after a min- 
ute. “You must watch me and the others. 
Do exactly as we do, and all will be well. 
Ah, here are the dogs now. Run into our 
house, while I tell them about you ; other- 
wise, they might think you were a yellow 
rat, and eat you up, you know.” 

At this unpleasant suggestion, little 
Vitzt hopped quickly to the friendly dog- 
house, where he nestled into the soft straw, 
while Jack explained matters fully to Lad- 
die and Snuff. They were very kind, and 
promised to give all possible help. 

Snuff went out and dug up a rich old beef- 
bone, which he placed hospitably before the 
little stranger. He, poor mite, didn’t even 
know what it was, and turning up his nose 
said, “Too bad that thing smells so badly ! ” 
(A remark which made them all laugh !) 


56 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

The three kind dogs gave up their en- 
gagements, and devoted themselves to the 
Canary-dog that entire afternoon. 

But, alas ! do what they would, they were 
unable to make any progress; for, you see, 
poor Vitzt was really still half-canary, and 
that part refused firmly to do what the dog 
part wanted to ! 

Finally, Vitzt’s sharp eyes caught sight 
of a big cat coming toward them, and he 
fled in terror, hiding behind Jack. He 
did n’t know why he was afraid, he had 
never met a cat before, but at sight of her, 
his wee heart almost stopped beating ! 

Laddie and Snuff, however, spied her at 
the same moment, and gave chase at once ; 
although Jack called to them lazily to “ come 
back ! ” 

“Never chase a cat, Vitzt,” he said. 

“I do not want to,” replied the Canary- 
dog. 


THE CANARY-DOG 


57 


“You very seldom get a cat, you know,” 
continued Jack, “and sometimes if you do 
get it — you get it,” here the old fellow 
chuckled. 

“I see,” said Vitzt. 

“ The day is now almost over, and what 
do you say, Vitzt?” inquired the old dog, 
somewhat anxiously; “will you return to 
your cage-house opposite, or stay with us?” 

“I’ll stay here, sir,” but as Vitzt said 
this, his tone was not nearly as hearty as 
before. To tell the truth, he was discour- 
aged at the experiences of the afternoon, 
and he was also beginning to feel very 
homesick. He was hungry, too, and 
wanted some seeds. Worse than all, it 
was now growing dark, and he thought with 
horror of tne many silent cats prowling 
about, of his own poor little self, so yellow, 
round, and plump, and so very-canary, 
inside ! 


58 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“Well, Little One, if you really wish to 
stay, you may do so,” remarked wise old 
Jack at last, “although for many reasons, I 
strongly advise you to go home. If you 
stay, however, understand that it is under 
certain conditions. 

“First, you must learn to walk and trot, 
as other dogs do, and not hop in that 
absurd way.” 

“Not hop? Oh!” cried Vitzt, doubt- 
fully. 

“Secondly, you must learn to eat bones 
and to like the old ones best.” 

“The very-smelling ones? Ugh!" 

“Thirdly, you must learn the art of 
chasing cats, for since I spoke, I have been 
thinking that it is really a necessary thing 
for you to know. Even if you do not care 
to do it often, it will teach you to be 
fearless.” 

“But I am afraid,” objected the Canary- 


THE CANARY-DOG 


59 


dog, “that while I was learning the art of 
chasing her, the cat might turn upon me, 
and eat me up ! ” 

“Yes, there is danger of that,” admitted 
Jack calmly, “but, in justice to the cat, let 
me hasten to say that, if she did do so, it 
would be because she did n’t realize that 
you were a dog, but thought you were 
some other animal.” 

“ But, I do not want to be eaten as — any- 
thing!" cried the Canary-dog excitedly. 

“I don’t blame you — I shouldn’t think 
you would,” agreed the old dog. “ I have 
never been eaten myself, to be sure, not 
even as a puppy, but it certainly cannot be 
a pleasant sensation.” 

“No,” answered poor Vitzt, with stream- 
ing eyes. 

“Well, I have now told you the rules, 
Little One. Think matters over and decide 
for yourself. Knowing all the circumstan- 


6o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


ces, however, I strongly advise you to re- 
turn to your old home, and to live in your 
cage.” (Jack, you see, was hoping in his 
kind old heart that the timid little Canary- 
dog would not stay with them, for he knew 
that if he did so, he would be in constant 
danger. ) 

“And, oh, by the way, Vitzt,” he contin- 
ued in a moment, “there is one other rule 
I did not speak of, and it is a very impor- 
tant one, too, so listen carefully. If you 
live in this kennel, you may bark and whine 
and howl occasionally, but you must never 
sing!" That is a very improper and un- 
dognified thing to do, and I can not allow it.” 

“ Not sing?” screamed Vitzt. “But, dear 
Mr. Jack, I have sung all my life. I think 
I should die if I had to stop!” 

“Very likely you would, my poor friend,” 
said Jack sympathetically, and, bending his 
head, he gravely licked his other front paw. 


THE CANARY-DOG 61 

“Then, oh, Mr. Jack, if I am not to hop, 
must eat bones (the very-smelling ones), 
must chase cats, and am never, never to 
sing, then — I think after all I had better go 
home, as you advise.” 

As soon as these words had been spoken 
Vitzt began to feel happy, for, to tell the 
truth, he was now awfully homesick for his 
mistresses, and his old cage-home. 

“But, dear Mr. Jack,” he added, “if I go 
back, I do not want to be as I am now, 
half-bird and half-dog. It is very confusing. 
Please tell me how to become as I was be- 
fore, wholly a bird. Tell me — you are wise.” 

“ I am,” admitted Jack. “As I told you, 
I know all that there is to know, but your 
case, Little Friend, is not a common one. 
Let me think hard for a moment.” 

So the dog put his head down and 
closed his eyes, while Vitzt waited in breath- 
less anxiety. 


62 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“I have it!” cried the big fellow, soon. 
“How did you become a dog?” 

“By wishing to be one. By thinking, 
watching, and dreaming, of it,” was Vitzt’s 
answer. 

“Very well,” said Jack, triumphantly, 
“return to your home and wish to be a 
bird. Think, watch, and dream of that. 
Then see what will happen ! ” 

“I will — I will!” cried little Vitzt, en- 
thusiastically. 

“Come then, hop onto my back and I’ll 
go home with you now,” announced Jack, 
and the Canary-dog, remembering the prowl- 
ing cats, was glad indeed of this kind offer. 
So the two started, Vitzt’s small claw-like 
paws clutching the big dog’s shaggy hair. 
Three times on the way they met a bird, 
and each time Jack thoughtfully stopped, 
saying kindly, “Now, look hard; and long 
with all your heart!” 


THE CANARY-DOG 


6 3 


This Vitzt did faithfully. At the house 
door, the big and little friends waited 
patiently, but no one came. 

“Sing,” commanded Jack, “they will 
hear that, and will come. ” 

Vitzt did so, joy at his heart — for he was 
very happy at being so near his old home. 
The song ended with a sweet high note, 
whereupon Jack cried jubilantly: 

“Aha! Did you notice, Little One, that 
this time your song was all canary? There 
was no dog-bark at the end. I shouldn’t 
be surprised if you were already beginning 
to change back, a wee bit ! ” 

Just then, approaching steps were heard. 
“They are coming,” whispered Jack. 
“Good-bye. Good luck to you. I ’ll watch 
the window to-morrow, and hope to see 
in the cage a really, truly, all-canary-bird.” 

The children, Rose and Elizabeth, who 
had been crying at having lost their canary- 


64 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

dog, gave him a most loving welcome, and 
he was immediately popped into his nice 
cage, where Mamma brought comforting 
fresh seeds and warm milk. He ate the 
seeds for supper, and the seeds only, for to- 
night, somehow, he didn’t want the milk. 
Looking round the dear, familiar room, he 
began to wag his tail with pleasure, but, to 
his surprise, found that he could scarcely 
move it, for it creaked, and seemed stiff and 
unwieldy. Then he sang a sweet song, 
for he was happy indeed to be back in his 
cage, glad of the seeds and glad to be 
allowed to sing. 

“I wish, oh, how I wish,” he sang, “that 
I were a really bird, as I used to be.” 

He fell asleep with this wish, and all 
through the night he dreamed that he was 
a bird ! 

In the morning, when daylight came, he 
looked down at himself and found, to his 


THE CANARY-DOG 


65 


great joy, that a second miracle had been 
performed, for he had actually become once 
more a dear little really -truly -canary- 
bird ! 

And all that morning he looked out of 
the window and sang and sang, to a pleas- 
ant-faced shaggy black dog, who was sitting 
in front of the house, and who looked si- 
lently up at him, and wag-wagged his bushy 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 


H, it was a beautiful plate 
— and such an unusually 
blue and white one, too! 
Uncle Sam had given it to 
Alfred on his fifth birthday, 
and since then each dinner had been eaten 
from it. Every day, after the beef, potato, 
and even the string-beans had disappeared 
into Alfred’s red mouth, the small boy 
would sit for a long time, and gaze at 
the plate. 

On its outer edge there was a perfectly 
superb procession of fierce blue lions, 
big-tusked elephants, camels, and other 
beasts, while on the inside, tall feathery 
trees and fat bushes grew luxuriantly. 

66 



IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 67 

Across the clear white sky were flying two 
monstrous blue birds. In the middle of 
the plate, a dark-blue bridge spanned a very- 
dashing river, and from it a path led wind- 
ingly upward, to a mysterious navy-blue 
castle, which had more towers and turrets then 
any one could possibly think of. Alfred 
often wondered what was inside the blue 
castle, and also whether the dark speck that 
he could see by its entrance, and which 
looked like a boy, was really a boy or not ? 

One sad day, the pretty blue and white 
plate had fallen to the floor, and when 
they picked it up, they found, alas! an ugly 
crack extending entirely across it. Alfred 
cried, and Mamma telephoned to Uncle Sam, 
who, being a very kind Uncle Sam, had said 
he would get another plate just like it, from 
New York, where the rest of its family 
lived. Alfred promised to wait patiently. 

He was a good boy, but of course he 


68 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


had some faults, and he had one strange hab- 
it, about which I must tell you, and which, as 
you shall see, finally got him into trouble. 
Whenever his nurse gave him mashed po- 
tato, apple-sauce, or in fact any soft mush- 
ious thing, what do you suppose this little 
boy would do? Bore a hole , right into the 
middle of it, and make what he called a 
“well”! 

Now, one day, Alfred was eating his din- 
ner, and Susan had given him a particu- 
larly large helping of mashed potato, into 
which, as usual, he at once began to dig a 
hole — a deep and a very deep hole. Round 
and round bored his busy spoon. At his 
feet, watching with eager eyes, stood 
“Sport,” a small and very blue Skye ter- 
rier. Deeper and deeper yet, through the 
soft potato, dug the boy, till at last he 
reached the plate itself. Across it was the 
ugly crack, plainly to be seen. 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 69 

“There ’s the crack. Want to look at it, 
Sport? he asked. Sport wagged his stumpy 
tail, and showed 
plainly how dread- 
fully much he longed 
to see it; so the boy 
took him up, and the 
two looked over the 
potato wall, down the 
deep hole. Then 
suddenly, without a 
moment’s warning, 
something happened! 

Alfred never could ex- 
plain afterward just how 
it came about, but anyway, while bending 
over the hot potato, he grew dizzy, lost his 
balance, and, with Sport tightly clasped in 
his arms, fell with a loud cry of terror, head 
foremost, down into the big hole! He fell 
so awfully hard, that he broke through the 



7 o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

enamel \ and, went deeply into the plate it- 
self! You see, he had first fallen into the 
habit of digging the hole, and after that it 
was an easy matter to fall into the hole ! 
He was naturally much frightened, and had 
given his poor head a hard thump too and 
cut it a bit, as he fell through. 

“Well/’ said he, picking himself up, “a 
pretty strange thing has happened to me 
now, I should think, and I wonder how in 
the world you and I are going to get out, 
Sport?” For there on every side rose 
discouraging warm - mashed - potato - walls, 
which, to his amazement, he found were 
considerably higher than his head ! 

“I think the best way will be to sit 
down,” he finally decided, “and to wait until 
Susan comes into the dining-room; then I ’ll 
call to her to help us out — up, I mean. ” 
He looked anxiously at the steep walls, 
towering over him, and, although he was 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 71 

fond of mashed potato, earnestly hoped 
that they would not fall and smother him. 
With Sport clasped in his arms, he sat 
down to wait for Susan, with what patience 
he could. No sooner was he seated, how- 
ever, than he made a most startling discov- 
ery, for at his feet he noticed some narrow 
steep steps, leading downward. This was 
very odd — very unusual; but Alfred in- 
stantly made up his mind that if stairs were 
there, he — being the owner of the plate — 
really ought to know where they went to. 
He therefore put one foot cautiously on 
the first step, finding it firm, apparently 
perfectly safe. He peered curiously into 
the inky blackness below, but could see 
nothing. Then slowly, carefully, he went 
on, until he had gone down twenty-two 
steps ! Remembering how thin the plate 
had always appeared to be, from the outside, 
he was amazed at the length of the flight. 


72 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

But plates are deceitful — one never knows 
what is hidden behind the enamel ! 

Finally, to the little boy’s relief, he had 
reached the bottom. He was in absolute 
darkness, save for a dim light, which came 
from the stairs behind. Sport shivered 
and whined dismally, and Alfred would 
have whined, too, if he had been a dog 
(little boys never whine, do they? Certainly 
not!). As it was, he went bravely on, 
however. 

“It is all right, Sport,” he whispered. 
“At least, I think it is. We’re discovering 
things, you know, and look, here’s a door” 
(for his hand had touched the knob of one). 
It proved to be locked, however, but for- 
tunately the key was there, so Alfred turned 
it, opened the door, and slowly walked in, 
and where do you guess he found himself? 
In the plate , — right in the very inside of his 
own pretty blue and white dinner plate ! 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 


73 


He was standing upon one end of the 
familiar dark-blue bridge, while beneath 
dashed the river he knew so well ! In the 
distance, he could see the big blue castle, 
looking stranger and more mysterious than 
ever. Yes! and, as he raised his eyes, 
there above him in the white sky were the 
two blue monstrous birds, flying swiftly, 
just as they had always done. Sport 
whined again. He didn’t like this blue 
place at all, and hoped that his young 
master would go home. But Alfred knew 
well that he might never have another 
chance like this, and meant to see all. 

“I don’t think many children have been 
inside their own dinner plate,” he said, “and 
I don’t want to miss anything. When I 
was outside, I used to wonder what was in 
the castle. Now I shall go there first and 
find out.” And he crossed the bridge 
eagerly. 


74 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Oh,” he shouted, when half way 
across, “there’s the big white stone. But 
my! how much bigger it looks now, and 
that blue spot there is a fish— just see him 
jump, Sport!” 

But Sport would n’t look, and trotted 
along sadly, trying to see nothing of all 
these horrid blue sights. Finally the two 
came to the steep steps that led to the 
castle, and up they climbed, reaching, when 
near the top, a stone seat embedded in 
nodding blue-bells. Here they sat down, 
while the boy looked about in great inter- 
est. From this high place, there was a 
beautiful view of the whole countryside, 
with its high surrounding hedge, but instead 
of the green trees and grass, which we have 
in our view, it was a bit strange to see so 
much blue. 

The grass, trees, and shrubs were of a 
deep beautiful blue; the sky above was star- 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 


75 


ing white, except for the two blue birds. 
They were flying, very evidently flying, for 
one could see their wings move, and yet, 
if one glanced away for a moment, and 
back again, there they were, apparently 
more exactly in the same spot than 
before. They were uncommon birds. 

Being soon rested, Alfred went on his way, 
Sport now leashed at his heels. They 
were nearing the castle. 

“I wonder,” whispered the little boy to 
himself, “whether that something by the 
castle entrance, which I used to see, is 
really a person or not?” And he hesi- 
tated a moment. Two steps more and his 
question was answered, for he found him- 
self standing near a boy of about his own 
age, a little boy who was weeping bitterly. 
All fear forgotten at this, Alfred went to 
him, and said kindly: 

“Why do you cry? What is the matter?” 


76 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

At these words, the small boy gave a 
yell of terror, and darted back through the 
porch, disappearing within the castle, but 
not before Alfred had noticed, with aston- 
ishment, that his hands and face were 
blue / Soon sounds were heard within and 
a sobbing woman appeared — a teacher evi- 
dently — followed by ten or fifteen children, 
huddling to her for protection. All were 
weeping piteously, into damp white hand- 
kerchiefs, held to dark-blue faces by dark- 
blue hands, and their sobs echoed through 
the empty building in a very sad way. 

“What is the matter with you all?” 
asked Alfred anxiously. “ Has some terri- 
ble thing happened here?” 

The teacher, stared curiously at him and 
then answered brokenly: 

“No, nothing has happened. We weep 
because we have always wept, and we 
shall continue to weep as long as we live. 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 


77 


But you — where did you come from, 
strange boy?” 

“From outside; I just dropped in — for a 
call, you know,” Alfred explained, care- 
lessly. “But — will you please tell me why 
you weep all the time?” 

Because — Little Outside Boy — we must! 
We are blue, so bitterly, b-b-burstingly 
blue, that it makes us feel blue!” Here 
sobs choked the poor woman’s speech, and 
again the children’s lamentations filled the 
air. It was depressing, and Alfred began to 
feel very badly, while little Sport lifted up 
his head and gave a heart-rending howl ! 
Instantly the teacher and all the children 
stopped crying, and looked at him. 

“What kind of a dog is that?” asked 
the woman. 

‘ ‘ A Skye terrier — a bhie Skye — that 
is the valuablest kind, you know,” said 
Alfred proudly. 



4t| % ' ♦ ' - 

*M«i V(. 


. >i^>X*)CK fl^: 


She and Alfred seated themselves comfortably on the 
stone seat by the door. 

78 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 79 

“Aha ! he ’s blue, ’’said the teacher — “that 
explains it. Poor little dog, come to 
me!” And Sport (to Alfred’s surprise) 
went immediately to her. The sobbing 
teacher then raised her hand and signalled 
to the children, who burst into tears again, 
while the little dog howled despairingly, 
his voice leading all the others ! 

“Can’t you stop crying for a few mo- 
ments? I should like to ask you some- 
thing,” said Alfred, timidly. 

“Well,” answered the Blue Lady, “I 
can stop for just seven minutes. Go back, 
children. Stay here, little dog. And you 
boy, speak quickly.” 

So she and Alfred seated themselves 
comfortably on the stone seat by the door. 

“First then, are all China-People like 
you? ’’began the little boy. 

“All the blue ones are, my dear. They 
must be, you know. French -China- 


8o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


People are different. They are silly, frivo- 
lous beings, and we despise them. We 
are unblinkingly blue — and we are proud 
of it.” 

“I see,” said Alfred, “But — if you are 
so terribly unhappy here, why do you stay? 
I should think you’d go away.” 

“ We can’t, Boy, for we are, alas ! 
baked in,” answered the Lady, “and then 
—there is another grave reason. We 
could not escape, if we wished to, for we 
are under guardianship." Here her voice 
trembled a little. “Stop talking, and 
listen for a moment,” she added. This 
Alfred did, and a strange confused roaring 
noise came to his ears, seemingly from all 
sides! It was a sound which frightened 
him, very much. 

“What is it?” he asked nervously. 

“It is — The Border!" whispered the 
Lady, looking scared, herself. Alfred’s 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 81 

heart began to beat quickly, for he sud- 
denly remembered, for the first time since 
he had come into his plate, that awful pro- 
cession of elephants, camels, lions, and 
so on, which he had dearly loved when 
he was outside , but which now seemed 
very terrifying indeed. 

“If you stand up on the seat, you can 
see the beasts, ” whispered the Lady, and as 
Alfred hesitated, she added, “They cannot 
harm you, for they, too, are baked in, you 
know — yes baked — right as they are, in a 
long endless procession — and the enamel is 
over them, tool” 

Alfred, somewhat reassured, climbed on 
to the seat, and there, sure enough, he 
could see plainly. The creatures were all 
there, roaring ceaselessly, and looking 
neither to the right nor left, but proces- 
sioning busily round and round, on the 
outside edge of everything 1 


82 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


Although it was, of course, a great com- 
fort to remember that the animals were 
firmly baked in, and with the enamel over 
them, still there was only a hedge between 
him and them, and they looked so terribly 
large, so unusually fierce, and all were roar- 
ing so constantly, that the little boy was 
much troubled. 

“I suppose you came down the stairs?” 
asked the Lady, at this point, “one can to- 
day, I remember.” 

“Yes, I did come that way,” answered 
Alfred, “But what do you mean by ‘com- 
ing to-day? ’ ” 

“Why this is the first of April,” said the 
Woman. “You are an April-Fool-Boy, 
you know, and fools can go anywhere.” 

The little boy felt uncomfortable at this 
speech, and remained silent. 

“Well,” remarked the Lady, after a 
moment, and taking out a fresh handker- 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 83 


chief, “Is there anything more you would 
like to say, for my time is now almost up?” 

“No,” said Alfred, “I think I shall go 
home pretty soon, for to tell the truth, 1 
don’t like to see people cry — it makes me 
feel very badly.” Then with a sudden re- 
membrance of the terrible Border of Ani- 
mals, he added quickly : 

“ I think I ’ll go home right off.” 

“ Farewell, then,” said the Lady. “ Leave 
your dog, but go yourself.” 

“No indeed,” said Alfred firmly, “I 
cannot leave my dog.” 

“Why not? He really belongs here,” 
the teacher insisted earnestly, the big tears 
beginning to roll down her hollow cheeks. 
“You know yourself, World-Boy, that a 
Blue-Dog ought to be here in this blue 
country, and not in the world above.” 

“Ah, but you see,” answered the Boy 
quickly, “that although as you say, Sport 


84 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

is blue, he is a Blue-Skye, and needs, of 
course, a blue sky over him! Now, our 
sky is blue, while yours is white,” and he 
pointed to it. 

“ Alas ! and alas ! ” said the Lady, “ wh- 
what you say is true. Farewell, Boy-from- 
Outside, Farewell also, Blue-Skye-Dog ! ” 
Here all the sobbing children came to her, 
and the mournful little procession filed 
sadly into the dim castle entrance ! 

Alfred and Sport crossed the bridge 
again, unlocked the door, felt their way up 
the steep dark steps, guided by the faint 
light from above, and reached at last, the 
top! Just as they arrived, there came a 
sudden crash ! and then they heard Susan 
saying ! 

“Well, well, upon my word, what m 
the world does this mean?” 

Alfred sat up, rubbed his eyes, looked 
about, and — he did n ’t know himself what it 


IN THE PLATE COUNTRY 85 


did mean, for, if you will credit me, he found 
himself, not in the potato hole , at all , , but sit- 
ting on his chair at the dinner-table! At 
his feet was Sport, licking his chops and 
wagging his tail, while on the floor, and 
broken in several pieces, lay the pretty 
blue plate ! Of food, there was nothing 
to be seen, and poor Alfred didn’t 
know, and never did know, whether he 
had eaten his dinner or not. (Sport knew, 
but — he did n’t care to speak of it !) 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT 
LARRFEN 


s, 


Once upon a time there lived in Holland 
a prince whose name was Bursten oudt 
Larrfen. Of course, with a name like that, 
he ought to have been extremely gay. 
But he wasn’t, for, sad to say, for some 
strange reason, he was unable to laugh or 
even to smile ! From birth he had been 
very unhappy, and spent all his time wip- 
ing away the big bitter tears which kept 
dropping from his poor eyes. At night, 
as he was very rich, he hired servants to 
do this for him, so that he himself might 
get a little sleep. 

When he was a baby, his father and 
mother, who were gay, lively people, were 

86 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN 87 

almost distracted at his sad little face and 
constant sobs. So they spent all their time 
trying to make him happy. They had a 



He ought to have been extremely gay. 


large room filled with funny toys, which 
would have made most children roar with 
laughter. There was, for instance, an ele- 
phant, who, when you wound him up, 
wiggled his trunk and winked one eye, and 
there was a rampageous rag rooster, who 


88 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


barked like a dog; a little pink pig who 
could sing like a canary, and a boy doll who 
coughed in such a natural way, that you 
longed to give it medicine ! Then there 
was a big fierce -looking soldier, who, if 
one pressed a spring at his side, would 
give a shocking howl of fear, turn his 
back and run away! (It certainly was 
pretty funny to see a brave soldier do 
that, was n’t it?) But, at all these ab- 
surd things, the poor little Prince would 
look sadly, then take out a fresh pocket- 
handkerchief and mop his eyes. It was 
very discouraging, but his parents never 
stopped trying, and never gave up hope. 
When the Prince was about fifteen, his 
father and mother both died, and he became 
the ruler over the kingdom. He was a good 
man and a just one, and he longed with all 
his heart to be happy, to laugh and be 
merry like other people. So he spent 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN 89 

most of his time in trying to accomplish 
this. He read all the very funniest books 
that ever were written, and — wept bitterly 
after every one ! He visited different coun- 
tries, and went to many theatres. But his 
heart-rending sobs, after all the funniest 
jokes and scenes, made the audiences and 
even the actors feel so badly that they at 
last begged him, never to come again I 

After this experience, he hired men to 
tell funny stories to him, but that did n’t 
do at all, for one by one they left, ter- 
ribly saddened themselves, by merely look- 
ing at the poor, woe-begone Prince Bursten 
oudt Larrfen. 

Sadder and sadder he became, till even 
little children would run away, when 
they saw him coming. At last, the unfor- 
tunate Prince decided to give up trying to 
live among people, and putting all his busi- 
ness into the hands of his High-chief-head- 


go CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


steward, went alone to a rustic hut which 
he had had built in the deep dark wood, 
where the tall gloomy trees were gloomiest. 

Prince Bursten loved the forest and 
never would allow any of the trees to be 
chopped down. 

Now, near his hut, there stood the tallest 
and most magnificent oak-tree in the whole 
forest, and in it lived the Lady of the Trees. 
The Prince did not know this, for no one could 
see her, as she was shy and kept herself 
hidden, but there she was, nevertheless ! A 
busy lady was she, for all green growing 
things of the forest were under her care. 
She it was who announced the coming of 
spring and who called to the sleepy little new 
leaves and buds to “ come out ! ” She who 
chose the time for them to don their gorge- 
ous autumn clothing, and who broke ten- 
derly, at last, the news that the cold winter 
was at hand, and that all might rest. 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LA^RFEN 91 

There in the old oak-tree she dwelt 
happily, ever beautiful, ever young. Her 
golden hair hung behind in two long heavy 
braids which touched the ground, and her 
pretty gown was soft and clinging, and 
was just the color of air. 

Now it was her one wish and her com- 
mand, that all within her forest country 
should live in peace and perfect happiness. 

So of course, it was a terrible thing for 
her, to have Bursten oudt Larrfen, who 
was at that time probably, the saddest man 
in all the world, come and live there near 
her, in the forest. She watched him at first 
with interest, then pity, and then great 
sadness. Finally, she decided that some- 
thing must be done, and at once. So 
she went to a very silent place in the for- 
est, where no one had ever been, except 
herself. Here, on a mossy stone, she sat 
quietly for a long time, and then a radiant 


92 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

smile overspread her face, for an idea had 
come to her. 

Hurrying home, she summoned a big gray 
squirrel, and going to the edge of the wood, 
pointed to the village, and gave careful in- 
structions, to which the squirrel listened 
respectfully. Then he whisked his tail ex- 
citedly, and scampered away. 

The Tree Lady walked slowly back along 
the wood path, stopping every few mo- 
ments to say something to the different wild- 
flowers, which nodded in pleased recognition. 
Here she turned the white face of a very 
large and beautiful daisy toward the path, 
whispering a word as she did so ; there she 
told a drooping lady’s-slipper to “stand up 
straight”; next she stopped a bird, a bril- 
liant scarlet tanager (who was darting by, 
to keep an appointment), spoke a word of 
command to him, and passed on, finally 
reaching her own tree-house, tired but 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN 93 

happy, for everything was now ready for 
her plan. And this is what happened : 

The very next afternoon, a little girl who 
lived in the village, went out to pick berries. 

“Don’t go into the forest, Hilda,” said 
her mother, “or you might get lost.” 

Now when Hilda’s pail was filled with 
bouncing fat berries, she sat down for a 
moment to rest, before going home. Sud- 
denly a big gray squirrel came near, very 
near, and said cordially : “ Chit ! Chit ! Chit ! ” 
“Oh, you darling!” cried little Hilda, 
and quite forgetting what her mother had 
said about not going into the wood, she 
j umped up and ran quickly after him. When 
the squirrel had gone but a short distance, 
he stopped to say “Chit! Chit!” again, al- 
lowing Hilda to get near, a-l-m-o-s-t near 
enough to catch him, when off he whisked 
again, with a saucy flirt of his tail ! Hilda 
thought him a naughty little fellow, but he 


94 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

was happy, for he knew that he was obey- 
ing the Lady of the Trees. 

She had commanded him to go to the first 
little child he saw near the forest, and try to 
coax it to follow him up the path, and he 
had succeeded beautifully. 

Before very long, however, Hilda grew 
tired of following the squirrel, and was 
about to turn back, when she suddenly saw, 
growing a little farther down the path, a 
very big daisy, which kept its pretty 
white face turned temptingly toward the 
path. (It had been carefully doing this 
every single minute since the Lady of the 
Trees had told it to.) 

“ Oh,” cried the child, “ that is a ’ normous 
daisy and I must pick it.” 

Having done so, she spied, but a wee bit 
farther down the path, a tall and very splen- 
did lady’s-slipper, which was standing up, 
wonderfully straight (just as the Forest 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN 95 

Lady had commanded) . That too, Hilda 
decided she must surely have, and went 
on to pick it. She had now wandered far 
into the wood, and was somewhat fright- 
ened, as it was late and beginning to grow 
dark. Turning to find the path home, she 
was surprised to see, sitting quietly on a 
nearby tree-branch, a beautiful scarlet bird, 
which did not seem in the least afraid, but 
which looked at her steadily, with bright 
and friendly black eyes. Hilda, who dearly 
loved birds, stood there silently for a mo- 
ment. Then the pretty creature flew down to 
the path, and hopped very slowly farther in- 
to the darkening wood. The little girl felt 
sure that she could catch it, so forgetting 
all else, she eagerly followed the tanager 
on and on ! 

But the forest grew darker and darker, 
and now the deceitful little scarlet bird, 
having brought Hilda to the very place 


96 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

mentioned by the Lady of the Trees, sud- 
denly stopped, rose high into the air, 
chirped shrilly once, as he flew, and al- 
though the child below strained her eyes 
trying to see him, he disappeared ! 

In the topmost branches of the tree into 
which he flew, lay the Tree-Lady, swinging 
lightly in a hammock of intertwined branches. 
The tanager perched on a nearby twig, and 
whispered softly, 

“Dear Queen, the squirrel, the daisy, the 
lady’s-slipper and I, have done as you 
commanded. Below stands a girl-child.” 

“I thank you all, dear little friends!” 
said she, and the happy tanager flew away. 

Meanwhile, poor Hilda looked about, 
and was terribly frightened, for she did n’t 
know where she was. She could see no 
trace of the path ! It was dark in the 
woods and the big trees looked tall and 
unfriendly, living their lives ’way up there, 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN 97 

above the earth. Tears began to fall rap- 
idly down Hilda’s cheeks. Then suddenly, 
to her surprise and de- 
light, she discovered near 
by, a small rough hut, 
its lighted windows 
brightly cozy in the dark- 
ness. Running to it, she 
was about to knock, when 
she was startled by the 
sound of heart-rending 
moans from within. 

Horribly frightened, 
timid little Hilda now 
burst into loud sobs, so loud that Prince 
Bursten oudt Larrfen, within the hut, heard 
them, stopped weeping himself, and jump- 
ing to his feet, listened in sheer amazement ! 

For this was the first and only time that 
the Prince had heard another person 
cry! Everyone who had approached him 



98 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


before, had been commanded to be 
gay — to smile always; and to hear this child 
cry, shocked him so much, that for the 
moment, he stopped weeping himself, and 
ran to the hut door where he found Hilda. 

“What are you doing, child?” he asked. 

“Crying, sir,” sobbed Hilda. 

“Impossible ! You can’t be crying, you 
know,” said the Prince bewildered. “ I am 
the only one who ever cries.” 

But this, Hilda did not seem to know, 
for she again burst out in wild lamentations. 

“ Why do you weep?” inquired Bursten, 
in his kind voice, for he was always kind. 

“ I ’m lost,” sobbed Hilda. 

“Lost?” echoed the Prince. “Where 
then do you live?” 

“In Bindelstein- am -Lager,” answered 
Hilda. 

“So, so?” said the Prince, “Nun, that is 
a long distance from here ; moreover, it is 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN 99 

now too dark to find the path. Should 
we try to do so, we should both be lost in 
the big forest. Come in, child, stay the 
night with me, and to-morrow I will take 
you home to your mother.” 

But at this, Hilda wept louder than ever, 
while the bewildered Prince put his arm 
tenderly about her, led her inside the hut, 
and to the splendid fire, which was roaring 
gaily up the chimney. 

And neither glanced up into the big tree, 
or they might have seen between the parted 
branches, the smiling face of the Tree-Lady 1 
Nor did the Prince look out of the door 
later, or he would have seen her dancing 
in the moonlight: a little gray squirrel, a 
scarlet tanager, and other shy wild creatures 
her only spectators. But Bursten was de- 
voting his whole time to Hilda, who refused 
to be comforted. 

First, he gave her a fine supper of goat’s 


ioo CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


milk, black bread, honey, and berries, 
and she, being very hungry, choked 
back her sobs just long enough to eat. 
Then she began to cry again, louder than 
ever. 

“ Oh, what can I do, my dear, to comfort 
you ?” cried the poor Prince at last, quite at 
his wits’ end. “ Can’t you yourself think of 
something I might do?” 

“Amuse me!” sobbed Hilda. 

“B-But,” stammered Bursten “it has 
never been like that, child ! I don’t know 
how to amuse people, for all my life people 
have tried to amuse me!” 

“How did they do it?” inquired Hilda, 
looking at him with streaming eyes. 

“Oh, in many different ways,” answered 
the Prince, “but, alas ! it never did any 
good, not any.” 

“Perhaps it might work better with me ? ” 
suggested Hilda who, comfortably fed and 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN ioi 

housed, was beginning, in spite of herself, 
to feel a bit more contented. 

“Well,” protested the Prince, staring at 
her, “ I assure you it has never been like 
this before, but I ’ll try. I’ll carve some- 
thing for you.” (The Prince, like all his 
subjects, could carve beautifully). He pro- 
cured a sharp knife and a bit of soft white 
pine that looked like cheese, and with a 
strange, new feeling at his heart, he sat 
down by the child’s side, suddenly remem- 
bering that he had not cried a cry, nor 
sobbed a sob, for a long time ! 

“ Let me see,” he remarked thoughtfully, 
“when I was your age, Hilda, I remember 
that the carvers used to carve funny animals 
for me!” 

“Then do ’em,” commanded the child, 
and — the Prince did. 

By the light of the big hearth fire, he cut 
out a cow with a cat’s head, and when 


io2 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


Hilda saw it, she began to laugh, at first 
softly, then louder and louder, till the hut 
was filled with the sweet sound ! 

“ Now when they carved for me, I never 
used to do that. I never even smiled,” said 
the Prince, looking wistfully at the child. 

“ What did you do? ” 

“Cried, of course I Cried and cried and 
cried 1 ” said Bursten. 

“ Not when they made such funny ani- 
mals?” asked Hilda. 

“Yes, when they did, — and even when 
they didn’t,” he admitted. 

“Then,” said Hilda decidedly, “you 
were a horrid, selfish little boy.” 

“You must not say such rude things to 
me,” remarked the Prince severely. 

Hilda’s lips began to quiver. “ But it 
was horrid of you to cry, sir, now wasn’t it, 
when people were trying so hard to make 
you happy ? ” 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN 103 

“ It may be so. No one ever told me, — 
no one would have dared to speak thus to 
me,” said the Prince. 

“ Perhaps you would have been a better 
little boy if some one had dared,” ventured 
Hilda. 

And the man, looking at the child, said 
slowly, though somewhat unsteadily, “ per- 
haps — perhaps you are right, little one.” 

Neither of them noticed that at that 
moment, the door of the hut opened sound- 
lessly, while a lovely face peered in at them ! 
At the Prince’s words, a smile passed over 
it, and the door closed gently. 

Meanwhile, Bursten continued his funny 
carving. He next made a horse — that is a 
kind of one, for the poor creature had a 
horse’s body, but, astonishing to tell, he had 
only two legs ! 

At this beast, Hilda laughed still more, 
and Bursten watched her intently, the 


io4 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

strange feeling within, growing greater 
each moment. 

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” shouted Hilda, and 
then — suddenly — someone else in the room 
began to laugh — a strange, hoarse chuckle ! 
The Prince looked about to see if anyone 
had entered the hut, but he and the child 
were alone. 

“Who — who laughed just then?” he 
asked hoarsely. 

“ I did,” answered Hilda. 

“ But, surely, someone else laughed, 
also ? ” 

“Only you," said the little girl calmly. 
“You laughed too, at that funny, funny 
horse bird,” and again the sound of the 
child’s mirth filled the room. Prince Bursten 
said nothing, but, jumping to his feet, hur- 
ried to a mirror which hung upon the wall, 
gazed within, and gave a loud cry of joy. 
It was indeed an unfamiliar face which he 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN 105 

saw there, for although it was his own, it 
was no longer the sad, woe-begone face of 
the unhappy prince, but instead, a pleasant, 
merry one ! He tried to smile, as he had 
attempted to do, over and over, in the un- 
happy past, and found to his unspeakable 
joy, that he was now able to do sol He 
smiled on both sides of his face, trying each 
in turn, and found that it was just as easy 
to do it on one side, as on the other ! 

Then Prince Bursten sat down and shed 
tears, but this time they were joy-tears 
which, as everyone knows, are pleasant 
things to shed. 

The following day, he took little Hilda 
to Bindelstein, and left her with her happy 
mother, who had spent the whole night try- 
ing to find her lost child. From there the 
Prince went to his own home, and when his 
people saw him they did not know him. 

“This gay, smiling man can not be our 


io6 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


sad Bursten,” they cried. “ No, ’t is impos- 
sible!” 

The Prince gave out a notice, command- 
ing all to meet him that evening in the 
Council-chamber, as he wished to tell them 
something important. 

In the morning, he went to a children’s 
hospital, and with him he took some of his 
amusing mechanical toys, and the sick chil- 
dren shouted with laughter. But no one 
laughed more heartily than the Prince him- 
self! 

In the afternoon, he visited a Home for 
Old People, bringing with him some very 
funny books, which he read aloud to the in- 
mates, who laughed heartily, but — no one 
was merrier than he ! 

In the evening, when the people had 
gathered in the Council-chamber, the Prince 
came to them and said these words : 

“My friends, although I am the Prince 


PRINCE BURSTEN OUDT LARRFEN 107 

Bursten oudt Larrfen, I have, as you know, 
always been called ‘The Saddest Man on 
Earth.’ And it was true. Why was I 
sad, my people ? It was because during all 
these years — during my whole life, in fact, 
I have lived for myself alone l But a lesson 
has now been taught me, taught me by a 
little child. From this time on, I am going 
to live for other people, and I shall be happy 
and gay, so that in the future, whenever my 
name is spoken, all will say, ‘ The Prince is 
indeed well-named 1 ’ ” Here a radiant smile 
lighted his features, and the people seeing 
it, rose to a man, shouting and laughing 
with joy! 

In this merriment he joined, and no laugh 
rang out so cheerily or lasted as long as 
that of the Prince Bursten oudt Larrfen ! 


THE LAUGHING HORSE 

I 

Mac was a colt, and he lived in a pleas- 
ant field near a village. His mother lived 
there, too, when she wasn’t being driven 
round the country by her master. Mac was 
very pretty. In color he was entirely 
black, except for a white star on his fore- 
head. His coat was wonderfully glossy, 
and his full mane, and long tail which 
touched the ground behind, were the envy 
and admiration of all the other horses in 
the field. 

On a hot day, several months before this 
story begins, Mac found lying in the field, 
a book of jokes, which some one had care- 
lessly left there. On the outside cover 
was printed : 


THE LAUGHING HORSE 


109 

These Jokes 
are funny enough 

to 

Make a Horse Laugh. 

Mac looked at the book with interest. 

“Well, I declare!” said he. He could 
read a little — -just enough to read the cov- 
ers of books. “Funny enough to make a 
horse laugh,” he repeated. “Now, I am 
glad I found this, for I am a horse, and I ’d 
like to laugh!” 

Being young and foolish, Mac thought 
he would eat a few of the book-pages and 
thus find out whether what it said were 
true. So he tore off some leaves with his 
sharp teeth, and chewed them into a nice 
slimy ball, which he swallowed. Liking 
the rich beefy flavor, he ate a few more 
leaves, from the other end of the book. 
These too, he found pleasant, and so the 


no CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

silly fellow finally gobbled the entire 
volume. 

Up to this time, Mac had always been a 
gentle, serious-minded colt, but now a sud- 
den change came over him — he grew frolic- 
some, spirited, and gay. For after having 
eaten this whole book of jokes, he was 
full of fun, you see! Moreover, the book 
had taught him to do what no horse had 
ever been known to do before, for, can you 
believe me, when I tell you that it had 
taught him how to laugh l Not only did 
he know how, but he did laugh — right out 
loud — “Haw! Haw! Haw!" 

When his mother found that her little son 
could do this extraordinary thing, she made 
up her mind that it was the star on his 
forehead which had probably caused it. 

“I never did like that star,” she said bit- 
terly. “ None of the family ever had one! 
By my mane and tail, I should n’t wonder 


THE LAUGHING HORSE 


1 1 1 


if it were magic, and had upset the dear 
boy’s brain 1 ” But she scolded him 
roundly just the same, and it didn’t do a 
bit of good, either, for he only laughed the 
louder — ‘ ‘ Ha / Haw / Ho!" 

Anything that seemed in the least funny 
he would laugh at, and as almost everything 
did seem funny to him, he was always 
laughing ! He was wise enough, however, 
not to do it when there were people near, 
for his mother had warned him that if he 
did so he would never be sold. “ No one 
will buy a ‘Laughing Horse’ if he can help 
it,” said she. 

One day, after Mac had grown up, he was 
sold to a dear little girl, named Mary. She 
was delighted with the pretty creature, and 
he was much pleased at the thought of 
going out into the strange world. 

When he went away, his mother said 
earnestly to him: “Now be a good kind 


1 12 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

horse, and oh, my son, remember, if you 
must laugh, do so in the privacy of the 
stable — but never in public / ’ ’ 

These words Mac tried to keep always 
in mind, although it was sometimes hard. 
For many months everything went well. 
He was kindly treated, had good food, 
and was in a fine, light stable from which 
there was a pretty view of the Merrimac 
River. 

As the weeks went on, the little girl — 
Mary — grew fonder and fonder of dear Mac. 
Then came a sad day, the day when Mac — 
forgot ! It was in the morning, and Mary 
was riding along through the main street 
of the town, walking her horse, as usual. 
Just after she had passed the town drinking- 
fountain, a fat woman came waddling out 
of a shop, with many parcels in her arms. 
She started to cross the street, when in 
some way the poor thing slipped and fell 



Mac saw this, and began to laugh 

113 




ii4 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


heavily to the ground, her bundles scatter- 
ing in every direction I 

Mac saw this, and thinking it very funny, 
and quite forgetting all his good resolutions, 
lifted his head and began to laugh at the 
poor woman ! “ Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! ” he 

shouted. "■Haw! Haw! Haw ! ' ’ 

Little Mary was frightened and sat there 
listening, scarcely able to believe her ears ! 
The fat woman, too, was so startled that she 
jumped to her feet and forgot she was hurt! 
Then, Mary, making up her mind that the 
whooping-cough or some dreadful illness 
had suddenly come to poor Mac, quickly dis- 
mounted and gazed anxiously up at him. 
People came running to see who was mak- 
ing the loud noise, and finding that it was 
a horse, stood staring with open mouths. 
Mary was both frightened and mortified, as 
you may imagine, but Mac never noticed it. 

"Ha! ha! ha!" he said, still more, the 


THE LAUGHING HORSE 


US 

great noise seeming to fill the whole street 1 
A big crowd quickly gathered, and finally a 
policeman was called, who sent the people 
away and put the little girl on her horse 
again. Meanwhile, Mac had gotten over his 
mirth and had come to his senses. He was 
surprised to see the crowd of people, and 
realizing perfectly why they were there, was 
truly ashamed, and trotted quickly away ! 

But, alas ! from that time on, having once 
laughed in this public way, Mac could not 
seem to control himself any more, and al- 
most every time Mary rode, he would be 
sure to see something which he thought 
funny, and at which he would laugh 
uproariously. 

Once when the older sister, Katharine, 
happened to be on his back, they met a little 
fellow who was trying to ride a bicycle. He 
was lurching from side to side of the street, 
and, of course, he did look funny. But kind- 


n6 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

hearted Katharine did not even smile, fearing 
that she might hurt his feelings. Mac had 
no scruples as to that, however, and stop- 
ping short in the middle of the street he 
guffawed loudly! The scared small-boy- 
bicycler fell this time completely off his 
machine, while poor Katharine sat quietly, 
shedding tears of mortification. She never 
rode him after that. 

In a few weeks Mac became celebrated, 
and all the townspeople kept a sharp look- 
out for the black horse with the white star 
on his forehead. Whenever he appeared 
(Mary upon his back) the word would be 
passed along, and admiring people follow 
in his wake, hoping they might get the 
chance to hear him laugh. 

And Mac seldom disappointed them, for 
he was happy, and felt like laughing all the 
time when he saw how very popular he had 
become. Mary, however, was far from 


THE LAUGHING HORSE 


ii 7 

happy. Not that the people were ever rude 
to her, but it was very unpleasant for a little 
girl to be followed everywhere by a crowd 
of people ! 

At last, she made up her mind that this 
could go on no longer — that although she 
loved Mac, she must part with him. He 
was so gentle, kind, and safe, that he would 
be a good horse for ladies and children to 
drive. But, alas ! although her father tried 
very hard, he was unable to find any ladies 
or children who were willing to buy, for 
apparently no one wante4 to own a “ Laugh- 
ing Horse ” ! 

In the meantime, men kept coming to the 
house, asking to see the now famous “ Mac,” 
and the family were much annoyed by it. 
They had no privacy, as the grounds and 
stable-yard were quite filled with people, on 
pleasant days. The stable-door had to be 
kept locked, at all times. At last, two 


ix8 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

strong policemen were called in to keep 
order. 

In the end, Mary’s father sold Mac to a 
circus. The manager assured the little girl 
that her horse should always have the best 
of food and care. 

“If he should ever get over the laugh- 
ing habit,” said she, “will you promise to 
let me know at once, so that I can buy 
him back?” And the man promised to do so. 
“We call him ‘ Mac,’ for short, but his whole 
name is Merrimac. He was named for the 
Merrimac River,” explained Mary. 

“And a very good name it is,” said the 
man, “for he certainly is a Merry Mac.” 
Here he laughed loudly at his own joke, 
and the horse (who liked ajoke on himself) 
was evidently amused too, for he joined in, 
with a lusty “Haw! Haw!” Then, still 
laughing, the two, man and horse, walked 
slowly down the avenue and away I 


THE LAUGHING HORSE 


Mac was very kindly treated at the circus, 
and proved to be the most popular animal 
there. He stood alone on a platform, and 
wore round his neck a most becoming 
broad blue sash -ribbon! He laughed 
heartily every day, and the crowd would 
laugh back, — hugely tickled. 

At first, Mac liked the clowns, and thought 
them extremely funny, but he soon grew 
tired of them. One day, a long, thin dachs- 
hund happened to walk through the tent 
with his master, and as soon as the horse 
caught sight of it, he simply roared with 
laughter ! 

A dachshund was then bought for Mac’s 
own particular use, and brought to him 
each day. The poor little dog did not like 
to be laughed at, but he could not help 
himself. 

After six months, Mac grew very tired 


120 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


of the circus life — of the dreadful noise, 
dust, and confusion. He began to long 
then, with all his heart, to get away from 
it, and to return, if possible, to his old home 



and his little mistress. But, of course, as 
long as he continued to laugh merrily, so 
long would “Merry Mac” be kept. He 
knew this, but the laughing-habit was now 
too strongly fixed, and he feared that he 
should be a circus-horse as long as he 


THE LAUGHING HORSE 


121 


lived ! Which shows that he knew nothing 
at all about it. For see what happened — 
and within a short time, too. 

Just next him in the circus, there lived a 
Gnu. A Gnu is an animal somewhat like a 
horse, a trifle like an ox, and a wee bit like 
a buffalo ! Now, it is confusing to be your- 
self, and yet to look like so many different 
animals, and so it is perhaps not strange 
that the Gnu is queer — awfully queer ! This 
particular one, however, was quite a settled 
down old fellow. He gnu a lot — and he gnu 
he gnu ! 

Well, poor Mac was grumbling one day, 
about the stupid life he led in the circus, 
and regretting that he was there. 

“Then why do you stay?” remarked the 
Gnu, coldly. “They keep you here be- 
cause you laugh. Stop laughing — and 
they will send you away.” 

“ Oh, but I can’t,” groaned Mac. “When 


122 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

I see anything funny, I simply must laugh 
— I cannot seem to control myself.” 

“Cannot control yourself? Ughlaboohoo- 
ragh!" snorted the Gnu contemptuously, 
adding, “Then you must be ill. Better 
take some medicine ! ” 

“ Medicine? Where can I get some?” 

“There is a bottle standing right there by 
your platform,” said the Gnu. “ It belongs 
to our keeper who takes some every day. 
He never laughs — he never even smiles.” 

“That is true,” said Mac. “But do you 
suppose ’t is the medicine that makes him 
so sad?” 

“I do, in fact, I know it, for the medicine 
is — cod-liver-oil. ' ' 

“Oh, is it? And do you think it 
would have the same effect on me — make 
me sad too, and stop my laughing?” 

But to this question the Gnu said con- 
temptuously: “ Ughlabuzzztsuzchoo ” and 


THE LAUGHING HORSE 


123 


after that, he refused to say another 
word ! 

Mac looked about, and soon found the 
medicine-bottle ; in it a thick yellow liquid. 
He deftly pulled the cork, and said to him- 
self, “Master takes a little, but I, being so 
much bigger, had better take it all ! ” So 
he tipped up the bottle, and bravely drank 
the entire contents. After having done it, 
he suddenly realized that the taste of the oil 
was not pleasant — that it was bad — that it 
was, in fact, nasty and horrid. It was real 
cod-liver-oil, and the taste was all there. 
Taken as you take it (with the bit of pep- 
permint, before and after) it is fine — it is all 
right, but taken as poor Mac took it, it is 
all wrong ! 

Through the night, the wretched horse 
was very ill, so ill, in fact, that he feared he 
should never be well in all the wide world ! 
“Alas, this is not what I expected,” he 


124 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


moaned, “ I only wanted the medicine to 
make me feel just sad enough, so that I 
should not wish to laugh any more!” 

The next day he was much better, how- 
ever, but to his delight, he found that he 
still continued to feel very unhappy in mind, 
the reason for this being that he could not 
get rid of, or forget, the awful thick taste 
of that slippery-slimy, cod-liver-oil ! 

“ I really feel now as if I should never laugh 
again ! ” he cried happily. “ ’T is indeed a 
wonderful medicine, and I think it has done 
exactly what I wanted it to.” 

In the afternoon, when the circus opened, 
the crowd poured into the animal-tent, and 
looked eagerly up to Mac, who looked sadly 
back at them. He knew he should dis- 
appoint them this time, and he was sorry 
for that. At quarter past two, the keeper 
brought in the dachshund and put him, as 
usual, on the stand in front of the horse. 


THE LAUGHING HORSE 


125 


“Now, ladies and gents, stand back!” 
he shouted, “ and listen to the wonderful 
Laughing Horse, the magnificent, mirth- 
ful Merry Mac!” 

The crowd did stand back, and did lis- 
ten, and they heard the magnificent mirth- 
ful Merry Mac give — instead of his usual 
jovial “Haw! Haw !” — the most awful, and 
heart-rending groan, that you can think of! 

At this, there was great confusion in the 
circus, and the manager came hurrying up. 

“ He won’t laugh at the dachshund ?” he 
asked. “ Then get another ! He will surely 
be amused, when he sees two of ’em !” 

This was immediately done, and the new 
dog placed on the other corner of Mac’s 
platform. But, alas ! although the little fel- 
low was funnier than the first, being four 
inches longer and six or seven inches thin- 
ner, it was of no use ! Mac looked at him, 
and then just as he was going to laugh, 


126 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

suddenly remembered the thick yellow 
taste of the oil, and groaned even more 
loudly than before ! 

The manager was sure, now, that the 
horse was ill, and felt very badly about it. 
For several days Mac was tenderly cared 
for, in the hope that he would soon be 
himself again. 

But he wasn’t, and he evidently couldn’t 
be. Then, the manager (remembering his 
promise) wrote to Mary and told her that 
the “Laughing Horse” was no longer 
a “Laugher,” and that she might buy 
him again if she wished to. So Mary’s 
brother Joseph, went to the circus and 
brought Mac back to his dear old home, 
where the little girl and her sister received 
him with joy. 

Since then, Mac has been as good as a 
very good kitten, and he and Mary are 
happy to be together again, and — that's all! 


PLEASE 


There was once a little word named 
“Please,” which lived in a small boy’s 
mouth. Pleases live in everybody’s mouth, 
though people often forget they are there. 

Now, all Pleases, to be well, should be 
taken out of the mouth frequently, and al- 
lowed to get the air. They are like little 
fishes, you know, who come popping up 
from the wet water, every once in a while, 
to breathe. 

This particular Please lived in the mouth 
of a boy named Dick, but, unfortunately, 
it seldom got a chance to get out. For 
Dick, I am sorry to say, was a rude little 
boy, who scarcely ever remembered to say 
“ Please.” 

“Gimme some bread! I want some 


127 


128 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

water!” or “Gimme that book!” was the 
unpleasant way in which he would ask for 
things ! His father and mother felt very 
badly about this, but hoped each week to see 
a change for the better. 

His father said to him one day: Dick, 

“When you want some custard-pie 
Say — '■please!' 

Or need help to tie your tie 
Say — ‘ please /’ 

If you want some mashed potato 
Or you wish to borrow Plato, 

All you’ve got to say is just — 

‘ Please / Please!"' 

At this, Dick laughed heartily, but still 
forgot to obey! As for the poor Please 
itself, it would sit up on the roof of the 
boy’s mouth day after day, hoping for a 
chance to get out, but growing weaker and 
more discouraged all the time. 


PLEASE 


129 


Now, Dick had a brother John, who was 
very old — almost ten! This boy was just as 
polite as Dick was rude, so that his Please 
had plenty of exercise, and more fresh air 
than he could use. 

One day at breakfast, Dick’s Please 
became desperate. He felt that he must 
have some fresh air or — die; so the poor 
thing took matters into his own hands, of 
his own account came out of his own home- 
mouth, breathed deeply the pleasant air, and 
then — crept timidly across the table, and 
jumped into John’s mouth 1 

The Please-who-lived-there, was very in- 
dignant. “Get out! You don’t belong 
here!” he cried. “This is my mouth!” 

“I know it,” replied Dick’s Please 
feebly. “ I live opposite, in the brother of 
this mouth. But, alas ! I am unhappy there, 
for I am never used — never have a chance to 
get a breath of fresh air! I thought you 


i 3 o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

might be willing, sir, to let me stay here 
for a day or so — until I felt stronger.” 

“Why certainly,” said the other Please, 
kindly. “ I see now that you are in a bad 
condition. Remain, and when my young 
master uses me, we will both go out of his 
mouth together. He is kind, and I am sure 
he would n’t mind saying ‘Please’ twice.” 

The matter had scarcely been thus satis- 
factorily settled, when John happened to 
want some butter, and this is what he said : 
“ Papa, will you pass me the butter, please — 
please?” 

“Certainly,” said his father, “but why so 
extremely polite ?” 

John made no answer, but turning to his 
mother, said : “ Mamma, w’ill you give me 
the muffins, please — please?” 

Mamma laughed. “You shall have the 
muffins, dear, but why do you say please 
twice? ” 


PLEASE 


131 

“I don’t know,” he replied. “The words 
seem to just jump out, somehow. Katie, 
please — please some water?” he went on. 
The poor boy was really startled, when he 
found, that in spite of himself, he had to 
double his words each time ! 

“Well,” remarked Papa, “there is no 
harm done. One can’t be too ‘pleasing,’ 
in this world.” 

Meanwhile little Dick, who had been shout- 
ing: “Gimme an egg! I want some milkl 
Gimme a spoon!” in his usual rude way, 
became interested at hearing so many 
“please pleases” issuing from his brother’s 
mouth, and thought he would try the word 
too (not knowing, of course, that his own 
little “please” had gone from him). So 
copying John’s manner of speaking, he be- 
gan politely : “ Mamma, will you give me the 
muffins, m-m-m-?” At this point, he tried 
to say “please” {aut— how could he, when 


i 3 2 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

he couldn’t? Then, he asked for some 
fruit, but with the same sad result ! 



“Will you give me some fruit, m-m-m- 
m?” was all he could manage to say. At 
last he burst into tears ! 

This horrid state of affairs continued 
throughout the day, John “please, pleasing,” 
and little Dick “ m-m-m, m-m-m-ing” while 
their poor mother was almost distracted ! 
She put them both to bed early, after rub- 



PLEASE 


*33 


bing their throats thoroughly with cam- 
phorated oil, nux vomica, and beef extract ! 
As an extra precaution, she flannel- 
bandaged them, for she feared that some 
mysterious new throat-disease, had seized 
upon the children ! 

The following day made matters right 
again, however, for at the breakfast-table, 
Dick’s “please” returned to him, rested and 
rosy from the fresh air. 

The next time John wanted the bread, 
he was able to say : “May I have the bread, 
please?” without any horrid second word 
to torment and frighten him. 

To little Dick’s delight, he found that he 
need now no longer say “m-m-m,” but 
could say “please” just as well and as easily 
as John himself. He was so glad, and 
liked the sound of it so very well, that from 
that time on, he kept saying it, and became 
exactly as polite as his brother ! 


THE CLOCK-TICK WHO 
RAN AWAY 


There was once upon a time a Clock- 
Tick, who lived in a tall, dignified mahogany 
Clock, in a comfortable country-house. 
The Master of the house wound the Clock 
every Saturday morning, and when he did 
so, he would whistle “Yankee Doodle,” 
while his little son Billy, stood nearby. 
It is much better to have two Clock-winders, 
if possible, for then one can direct, you see, 
the other wind, and if at the same time, 
one whistles a patriotic air, why — so much 
the better! 

But this morning Billy was upstairs 
with — guess what ? The measles ! After 
breakfast, therefore, Papa having no one to 

134 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 135 

remind him, forgot to wind the Clock, and 
went directly to town, while Mamma hur- 
ried up-stairs, to Billy. 

The Clock, being a faithful painstaking 
creature, finding himself unwound, with 
his weights way down, instead of way 
up, tried hard to go on by himself, and 
keep his usual excellent time, but he was 
unable to do so, and to his distress, before 
long, his Pendulum began to go slower, 
and s-l-o-w-er and s — 1 — o — w — and then 
— stopped , , the hands pointing at quarter 
before twelve ! 

The Tick crawled up on the Pendulum, 
and sat there, as they always do when clocks 
stop. From the first, they are taught un- 
der such circumstances, to sit quietly on 
the Pendulum, until the “go-ahead” signal 
is given to the Clock Hands, when they all 
begin work again. But it seems that this 
Tick was not like others of his family. If 


136 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

he had been, this story would never have 
been written. No, this particular Tick 
was a gay fellow. He never could keep 
still one single second. He liked to be 
where something was going on — where he 
could have a good time. This he always 
had had of course, when the Clock was 
wound — a perfect time, in fact, but now, 
the unusual silence within the Clock house, 
quite scared him. So to keep up his 
courage, he began to “Tick-tick, tick- 
tick,” all by himself ! 

“ Hush ! ” said the Clock sternly. “You 
must n’t tick on your own account — ’t is 
against the rules. Don’t you see that I 
have stopped?” 

“/haven’t,” the Tick said saucily, with 
a g a y giggle 1 The Pendulum, shocked at 
such conduct, shook him violently. Much 
disgusted at this, the little Clock-tick 
decided to leave home, and go out into the 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 137 

room, for a few moments. So he slipped 
slowly through the key-hole ! 

“Come back,” roared the indignant 
Clock. 

“Tick-tick,” said he. 

“Come back here at once!” screamed 
the Pendulum. 

“Iworit — I ’m too awfully tick-tick-tickled 
to get away,” replied the rude young thing ! 
He was very small, and being quite invis- 
ible, felt delightfully free to wander about 
as fancy led. There were many gaily-bound 
books in the room in which he found him- 
self, and the sun was shining pleasantly 
through two large windows at one end. In 
this window hung a golden cage, containing 
a canary-bird, who was singing songs so 
very quickly that the Clock-tick could n’t 
understand what he said. But he liked the 
songs, so hopped toward the window, and 
finally on to the cage itself. 


138 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

The Bird soon finished his song, and 
stopped a moment to eat his 549th seed. 
The Tick, happy in his new freedom, and 
with the warm sun shining upon him, said 
pleasantly : 

“Tick-tick! tick-tick!” But no sooner 
had the words been spoken, than the 
Canary, hearing them, was frightened al- 
most out of his little yellow senses, and 
flew frantically from side to side, screaming 
shrilly for somebody, to come and take 
away this unseen enemy ! The Tick, dis- 
appointed at his reception, hopped down 
and wandered about the room, “ticking, 
ticking” to himself. No one heard him, 
however, except the Canary. Soon he 
wandered out into the hall, and seeing 
what he thought was a fur rug, jumped on 
to it, “Tick-ticking” as he did so. 

The rug proved to be no rug, however, 
but instead, a big shaggy Dog, who was 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 139 

having a mid-day snooze by the front door. 
The loud noise of the “ticking” waked 
him at once. He sat up and listened in- 



tently, then growled, and carefully examined 
the premises, finding however, nothing 
suspicious there. Suddenly, he discovered 
that the strange sound came, apparently, 
from his own back! At this, he became 


i4o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

even more frightened than the Canary had 
been, and began to race madly about the 
hall ! Round the sitting-room he flew; in 
and out the furniture, under tables, over 
chairs, and round things, he scurried ! 

At first the Tick was amused, and quite 
enjoyed the swift exhilarating motion — it 
was like being on an automobile, particularly, 
when they dashed round sharp danger- 
ous turns. Finally he grew tired, however, 
and hopped from the dog’s back to the 
table in the hall, thence to a high shelf on 
the wall, where there was a small and very 
straight-standing wooden man, dressed 
plainly but richly, in a shining suit of tin. 
The excited dog, finding that the awful 
“ticking” had left him now, lay down with 
lolling tongue, and tail tight-folded between 
his legs ! 

At this moment, from the dining-room, 
came the sound of a musical gong. And 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 141 


the family — all but the poor measle-boy — 
came down to luncheon, three children and 
the mother. After they were seated, the 
Tick jumped down from the shelf, and 
followed, full of interest and curiosity as to 
where they had gone, and why. He found 
them gathered round a table, and, uninvited, 
he hopped up and seated himself on a ripe 
red apple in the fruit dish, in the middle. 

He stole about silently, being too out 
of breath to tick for the moment. Now, 
however, from his comfortable seat on the 
crimson apple he began again his song, 
the slow, measured “Tick-tick, tick-tick,” 
of the old clock. At first, he was unheard, 
for the children were all talking at once, to 
their poor mother ! Then, after Katie had 
passed the soup, there came a pause, and 
the mother said : 

“ How very loudly the old clock ticks 
to-day ! ” 


I 4 2 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Yes, I noticed that,” said John, the old- 
est boy, “but it can’t be the clock, mother, 
for see, it is n’t going, and anyway, that 
sound is nearer at hand. Who has a 
watch?” 

But it turned out, that no one had a 
watch, except Mamma, and hers was a small 
gold affair, with a very delicate, ladylike 
ticklet. 

“It must be some insect,” said little 
Helen. 

“It can’t be,” said the third child. “It 
would have to be as large as a cat, to 
make as loud a noise as that.” 

“Well, I ’m going to find out what it is,” 
said the mother, at this point, “ for I cannot 
allow such a ticking in my house and not 
know where it comes from.” So she rose 
from the table, went into the hall, and began 
the search, the children, in great excitement, 
darting here and there. 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 143 

“Tick-tick, tick-tick, tick-tick!” 

“The sound seems to be in the dining- 
room,” said the mother, at last, having 
searched the hall and living-room thor- 
oughly. Listening carefully, she ap- 
proached the table itself. 

The Clock-tick became alarmed at this, 
and, in a frantic effort to escape, skipped 
from place to place. At last he found him- 
self near the front door, and although he 
had not planned to do so, with but a mo- 
ment’s hesitation, he popped through the 
key-hole, into the outside world, leaving 
the baffled family behind ! 

He sat for a moment quietly on the 
porch, and then seeing a pleasant-looking 
man approach, he hopped nimbly on to his 
shoulder. 

“Tick- tick,” he said cordially. 

“Great Scott! What was that?” cried 
the startled man. 


144 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Tick-tick,” was the polite answer. 

But the man was alarmed. First, he 
took off his hat, examining it carefully to 
see if anything were there. Then he brushed 
his shoulders vigorously, first one, then the 
other. At that, off came the little Tick for 
unfortunately, it was on that very other 
shoulder, that he was sitting ! 

“No one seems to want me,” he said to 
himself softly. Just then, he noticed two 
ladies getting into a carriage, which was 
standing by the sidewalk. 

“Drive as quickly as possible to the 
railroad station,” directed one. 

Now the Clock-tick did n’t know what 
a railway station was, of course, but he de- 
cided that he would go there, anyway, so 
he jumped on to the horse’s back, then on 
to his head, where he cuddled down into a 
soft place between the ears. 

“Trot-trot, trot-trot,” went the horse, 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 145 

and pleased with the fine view and exhila- 
rating motion, the Clock-tick began his 
“ Tick-tick, tick-tick ! ” 

The horse, hearing it, shook his head 
violently, supposing that a strange new 
kind of fly had come to him, but the “tick- 
ticking” went steadily on. Finding that 
he could not get rid of it, the poor horse 
became terrified, and gave some bucks that 
he had n’t done for years. Then, finally, he 
ran away. 

The Clock-tick, knowing well what was 
the cause of his fright, jumped from the 
maddened animal’s head to his back, then 
to the dashboard, and from that to the top 
of the carriage, from which point he ex- 
pressed by loud ticks his contempt for the 
silly horse, who could become so awfully 
frightened by so little a thing. 

After a short but exciting run, the horse 
finally stopped of his own accord, and 


i 4 6 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

hearing, to his relief, no more mysterious 
noises, became again a meek, tired-out, 
livery-stable horse. On they drove to the 
station, and it was now so late that the 
two ladies had barely time to catch their 
train, which came roaring and crashing up, 
just as they arrived. 

This time, it was the Clock-tick who was 
terrified ! He knew nothing about railroad 
trains, of course, and had never dreamed 
that anything could possibly make such a 
noise ! Right in the very middle of the 
loudest roaring, puffing, and crashing, 
there came two ear-piercing, blood-curdling 
shrieks from the engine itself, and the poor 
Clock-tick felt that the end of all had 
surely come. He leaped from the 
carriage, ran swiftly down the street, 
turned the corner, and without thinking 
what he was doing, jumped directly on to 
the head of a fat grocery cat, who was com- 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 147 


fortably sunning herself, by her master’s 
door. 

She had no idea that he was there, 
until he began to tick. Then she sat 
up, arched her back, and moved her tail 
slowly from side to side. Finding that by 
doing these things, she had failed to alarm 
the “ticking” creature, she became fright- 
ened herself! She jumped and she 
squirmed, she humped up her back ter- 
rifically, and then she began to go round 
and round, faster and faster and faster ! 

Finally the Tick became very dizzy, and 
could only gasp out unevenly, his “Tick- 
tick, tickety-tick-tick ” ! 

People soon gathered, and looked pity- 
ingly at the poor frightened cat, thinking 
that she must be having a fit ! But sud- 
denly she stopped whirling, lifted her tail 
stiffly, and began to spit. And she s-s-pat 
so furiously, and she s-s-sput so loudly that 


1 48 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

everybody was amazed at her 1 As for the 
poor little Clock-tick, never having met an 
angry cat before, he didn’t know at first 
what to think, but then made up his mind 
that the beast must be turning into another 
engine like the monster from which he had 
just fled ! At that awful thought, trembling 
with fright, he jumped from the cat’s back, 
and ran quite a distance down the street 
before he dared stop! Then he caught 
sight of an enormous dog approaching, and 
not feeling strong enough to meet him, he 
ran up the side of a tall brick building (for 
Ticks can do this difficult thing). Up on 
the roof it was cool and airy, and he rested 
quietly for a few moments, under the shel- 
ter of a broad, motherly-looking chimney. 

Suddenly he heard a very loud rhythmic 
noise just above, a noise which, somehow, 
did n’t seem very terrifying, as it had quite 
a familiar sound. He listened. 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 149 

“TICK-TICK, TICK-TICK!” it 
boomed out in a monstrous big voice. 

What could it mean? The Clock- tick 
looked up, and there he saw — an enormous 
Clock, the biggest he had ever imagined ! 
It was the Town Clock Himself, and, to the 
little fellow below, it seemed the size of a 
house 1 

At that moment, it evidently became 
aware of the trembling little thing, who 
was timidly “tick-ticking” on the roof 
beneath. 

“ Who are you ?" it roared. 

“I’m only a little Tick,” came the fright- 
ened answer. 

The big Clock was angry. 

“You are a runaway!” it said sternly, 
“that is what you are.” And as the Tick 
confessed that this was so, he commanded 
him to go home at once. 

“Yes Sir, I will obey, Sir,” said he, 


150 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

timidly, “You see my home Clock wasn’t 
wound, Sir, so I just came out for a little 
walk, Sir. And indeed, Sir, I am quite 
ready, Sir, to go home, Sir, now, Sir ! ” 

The big Clock, after asking where he 
lived, gave him careful directions how to 
reach his home again, and the little Tick 
went at once ! 

Down the building he slid, and started 
on the right way, but after going a few 
blocks toward his home, he became con- 
fused, and forgetting the careful directions 
which his big friend had given, he took the 
wrong street, and started off briskly in the 
wrong direction. 

Realizing very soon that he had made a 
mistake, he jumped onto a nearby fence 
post, and gazed about, hoping to see some 
familiar place, but in vain — all was strange. 
Not knowing what to do next, he sat there 
in a miserable little heap, sadly muttering, 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 151 

“ Tick-tick, tick-tick” (which really meant 
“I’m lost, I ’m lost ! ”). 

I don’t know when he would have got 
home — perhaps he would never have got 
home, if something had n’t happened, some- 
thing splendid 1 For down the street came 
a man, tall and bearded. This man was 
whistling gaily, and the tune that he was 
whistling was — Yankee Doodle! 

This tune the Clock-tick recognized at 
once, and when the man approached, to 
his unbounded joy, he recognized him 
also. For it was the measle-boy’s Papa, 
his own dear Clock - Winder ! Nearer 
and nearer the man came, marching in 
time to the music. When he was just 
opposite the post, the Tick jumped quickly, 
landing softly, and firmly clutching the left 
coat tail. He knew that in all probability, 
his master was going directly home, and 
his plan was to go with him. But he 


152 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

realized now, that he must be careful to keep 
out of hearing, if possible, that otherwise 
unpleasant consequences might follow. 

Of course the Tick really belonged to 
the man, but he feared that he never would 
be recognized away from the Clock. After 
all, when Clock-ticks are separated from 
their Clocks, there are not many people who 
would know them, no matter how many 
years they had listened to them. 

The man walked on, still whistling the 
Doodle-Song, and kept on whistling and 
still whistling, until he had reached his own 
house, which he did in about ten minutes. 
Unlocking the door, he stepped into the 
warm hall, and the Tick scurried across the 
dimly lighted sitting-room, and into his old 
home, where, breathing hard, he seated 
himself on the Pendulum. 

Now the Clock, being old and wise, had 
given directions that when the Tick returned 


CLOCK-TICK WHO RAN AWAY 153 


(as he expected he would) nothing unkind 
should be said, for he realized that in all 
probability, the little fellow would have 
suffered enough already. So not a word of 
reproof was spoken. 

“Is everybody ready now?” inquired the 
Clock gently. 

A soft whirring “y-e-s” rippled through 
the cogs and things. 

“Are we wound?” whispered the Tick, 
timidly. 

“Yes, long ago, our mistress wound us, 
and started the Pendulum, but we couldn’t 
go, because ” 

“Yes, I see. I — fully understand I ” said 
the guilty Tick. For he knew that no 
Clock could go without his Tick. He 
would find himself arrested instantly, if he 
tried to ! 

“At first, we thought we would try to 
go without you,” interrupted the Pendulum, 


154 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“but we decided that we ought not to, 
for you see ” 

“Yes, I see,” said the miserable Tick. 

“The watch-maker was to come Mon- 
day, to repair us,” remarked the escape- 
wheel. “Now, let us all rejoice that that 
will not be necessary.” 

At this point, the little Tick could bear 
it no longer, but spoke up bravely, and 
made his humble apology. 

“Dear Friends, it was all my fault, I 
know!” he cried. “ Please forgive me, for 
I’m very very sorry. I promise never to 
go away again.” And — he never did ! 


THE BAD-TEMPERED KNIFE 


Now listen carefully, for this is a very 
strange story. Once upon a time, there was 
an Uncle John and he had a little nephew 
Elwyn, whose birthday used to come every 
year ! Now when Elwyn was eight, Uncle 
John gave him a knife. It was not a toy- 
affair, but was made in Germany, and was 
good and strong, with two sharp blades. 
Elwyn promised his mother that he would 
be very “careful” and Uncle John said: 
“Why, of course he’ll be careful. I never 
should give a knife like that to a careless 
boy.” 

Elwyn whittled and cut, and cut and 
whittled all the morning. After luncheon, 
he walked down the road and soon met his 


155 


156 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

friend Gus. It was vacation-time and the two 
boys had planned to spend the afternoon 
in the woods, fishing. Elwyn showed his 
birthday knife to Gus, who admired it 
greatly, and felt badly that he had no Un- 
cle John — all his uncles were aunts, poor 
child I Well, pretty soon, the two boys sat 
down, and began to try the blades. 

“Are they very sharp?’’ asked Gus. 

“Oh, yes,” said Elwyn. “See,” and he 
took from his pocket a piece of white pine, 
and, placing his knife at one side, began to 
cut through it. And then — what do you 
suppose happened ? The man who sold the 
knife to Uncle John did n’t know, of course, 
or he would never have sold it, and Uncle 
John certainly didn’t know, or he never 
would have bought it for his little nephew, 
of whom he was very fond, but it seems 
that this knife was not what it appeared 
to be — for it was an uncommon and 


THE BAD-TEMPERED KNIFE 157 

most unpleasant kind. Besides its sharp 
blades, and strong handle, it had two 
things practically unknown in knives — a 
strong will, and an uncontrollable temper 1 

But perhaps the oddest thing about it 
was, that it would work only during the 
morning hours. In the afternoon it liked to 
sleep, and if any one tried to use it then, it 
would become so angry that it would cut 
— would actually try to wound its owner, 
so that it might be left in peace, to finish 
its nap! Being only a knife, it of course 
knew no better, but that fact did n’t make 
it any happier for the boy who was cut ! 

Now, on this particular day Elwyn had 
been using it, all through the morning, so it 
was very tired, and had just sunk into a 
sweet sleep. When it was again opened, 
and told to cut through the pine, it refused 
to do it. 

“I will not cut anything,” it said crossly, 


158 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

to the board. But the wood itself was 
cross-cut, and snapped back : 

“You ’ve got to.” 

At this the Knife became furiously angry ! 
Of course Elwyn, hearing nothing of this 
whispered conversation, never suspected his 
danger until the terrible thing had occurred 
— the very worst thing that had ever hap- 
pened to him, or that could happen to any 
boy ! For the Knife gave a sudden vicious 
leap upward, and with one long clean 
stroke — it cut poor Elwyn' s head off 7 But 
Elwyn (who had never upon any occasion 
lost his head before) fortunately had the 
great presence of mind to seize it and put 
it on again, at once ! 

The Knife, meanwhile, rather taken aback 
by the awful thing it had done, had been 
thrown by the force of the blow right into 
the stream near, where it immediately sank 
to the bottom, disappearing forever! 


THE BAD-TEMPERED KNIFE 159 


The two boys, meanwhile, both crying 
bitterly, hurried home. Elwyn’s mother 
took him immediately to the doctor, who 
was, unfortunately, away on his summer 
vacation. So a young assistant, who evi- 
dently knew very little of modern surgery, 
fastened on the poor head as well as he 
could — adding, for safety, an extra snap- 
hook at the back. Now as soon as the 
wound was healed Elwyn found, to his sur- 
prise, that his head was loose, and more- 
over, he soon discovered that, by giving a 
little twisting motion to it, he could remove 
it, without the least pain, whenever he 
wished ! 

At first he didn’t tell his mother of this, 
because he knew it would alarm her, and 
then he was afraid, too, having known her 
for several years, that she would forbid him 
to do it, and he often found it extremely 
convenient to be able to remove it. For 


160 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


instance, if he wanted to see what was go- 
ing on — what the fellows were doing on 
the other side of the high wall which sur- 
rounded his father’s house — instead of hav- 
ing to climb over it, or borrow the cook’s 
kitchen-chair, as before, he could now re- 
move his head, lift it up in both hands, look 
over the wall, and — put it on again. Or, if 
he wanted to go in swimming, he found it 
was fine to have a detachable head, for he 
could first brush his hair carefully, leave 
his head by the stream with Gus to watch, 
so that no one would take it, and then swim, 
plunge, and dive to his heart’s content, stay- 
ing under water for an hour or two, with no 
danger of losing his breath, getting water 
in his ears, or any unpleasant thing of that 
sort. Then when he came out again it was 
such a comfort to have a nice dry, smiling 
head to greet him ! 

One day he caught cold, and the doctor 



162 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


said he feared it was whooping-cough, as 
Gus had it, and the two boys had been con- 
stantly together. Then Elwyn confessed to 
his mother that his head was detachable, 
and suggested to her that she might separate 
it from his body, and that then neither could 
whoop. Mamma hated the thought of this, 
but she hated the whooping-cough still 
more, so at last she did as he had suggested. 
The doctor was greatly interested in the 
novel experiment, and watched the poor 
head trying hard to whoop, but only able 
to cough very delicately, as it had no lungs 
to its back! After this funny attack was 
over, Elwyn’s mother told him never to re- 
move his head again. He promised, and 
for many months kept his word — then, one 
day, he forgot! 

He wanted to climb a tree to get some 
chestnuts, and, knowing how dizzy it always 
made him to do this, he removed his head, 


THE BAD-TEMPERED KNIFE 163 

placed it on the ground on a comfortable 
mossy stone, and sent up his body. Now, 
unfortunately, the body, not being able to 
see, after going up quite a distance, missed 
its footing, fell heavily, and lay motionless 
on the ground! 

Elwyn, who was quite alone, called loudly 
to it, but there it lay ! At last, it began to 
move a little, and again the boy called to 
it. But of course the poor thing couldn’t 
hear, and simply lay there, groping wildly 
for its lost head ! Elwyn screamed loudly 
for help, and at last his little dog Schatz 
dashed through the wood, ran to him, and 
licked his poor defenceless face — then stood 
off, and barked severely, first at the body, 
then at the head. It made Elwyn horribly 
nervous, to have his body lying so far 
away, and to see the arms groping for the 
headl He tried in vain to find some way 
out of his difficulty. Then suddenly some- 


164 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


thing still more startling occurred, for, if 
you ’ll believe me, the body began to walk l 
But being so utterly stupid, with no head 
to think for it, it did n’t even know that to 
do this properly, one must first stand up- 
right ! Instead of which, it remained lying 
just as it was, flat on its back. Of course, 
as its legs began to move forward, the body 
was obliged to follow, and as there was no 
land for it to walk on, it walked straight up 
into the air! It had no brains, of course, 
and so never suspected what a silly thing 
it was doing. How it could do it, no one 
knows. We have all of us heard of people 
“treading on air” and it was probably 
something of this kind. Up and up it went 
anyway, Elwyn shouting to it in agony, to 
“come back! come back!” But in vain, 
for on it slowly plodded, still groping in- 
stinctively for its lost head. 

Schatz thought this must be some fine 


THE BAD-TEMPERED KNIFE 165 


new game, and barked ecstatically, while 
gazing upward at the now fast-disappearing 
body. 

At this moment, fortunately, Gus ap- 
peared, and was of course horrified at what 
had occurred. He carried his friend’s head 
home to the poor mother, who burst into 
tears when she saw all that remained of her 
little son ! 

“Your poor body gone? Oh, Elwyn!” 
she sobbed (and indeed it was a sad afflic- 
tion for a mother). “What will become of 
you? And — what will become of your 
body?” she added, “’way up in the air, all 
alone ? Only a balloon can save you now, 
dear child.” At the word “balloon,” how- 
ever, the mother’s face suddenly became 
radiant — an idea had come to her ! 

“Prof. Latourville I” she cried. “ He will 
save us, if any one can ! ” It was indeed 
a happy thought, for this rich, kind neigh- 


1 66 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


bor was the owner of a wonderful air-ship ! 
Hastening to him, they laid the case (and 
Elwyn’s head) before him. Enthusiastically 
did he agree to help, and the man Jean 
(his air-feur) soon brought the huge balloon 
to the door. The mother was helped care- 
fully aboard, holding in a basket all that 
remained of poor Elwyn. Then the Pro- 
fessor, Gus, and Schatz jumped in, the word 
was given, and they started. 

“We can give you no idea, alas! which 
way he went,’’ said the distracted mother. 
“Only that it was way up!' 

“That is of no need, Madame,” the Pro- 
fessor assured her, courteously. “There is 
but one way the body could have taken — but 
one for us. That is, the ‘air-line.’ By that 
the body must have gone — by that we go l” 

For about an hour they journeyed on 
silently, Elwyn’s mother occasionally wip- 
ing the big tears from his poor eyes. 


THE BAD-TEMPERED KNIFE 167 

Suddenly there came a shrill bark from 
Schatz — the Professor gave a look through 
his powerful glasses, then — 

“It is he, grace a Dieu! I perceive him ! ” 
he cried. 

A moment more, and all could see El- 
wyn’s poor tired body resting comfortably 
on a soft, white cloud. Cautiously, the 
balloon was steered to it. A quick motion, 
and the Professor seized its arm and drew 
it into the balloon I In an instant the head 
was again attached to the body, amid great 
excitement and rejoicing. 

“My son, my own dear son!” said the 
mother, tenderly, “this must never, never 
happen again.” 

“Indeed it never shall,” sobbed the ..boy. 

But, as soon as they landed, the mother 
took her son at once to a Boston surgeon 
(a celebrated neck-ologist), who laughed at 
the bungling work of the young country 


1 68 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


doctor. With marvellous skill, he fastened 
Elwyn’s head permanently to his body, so 
there was absolutely no possibility of its 
ever coming off again, under any circum- 
stances, and — it never did I 


THE NAUGHTINESS OF 
NUMBER NINE 


In the little old town of Spitzbergbaden- 
steinheim, in northern Germany, stood an 
ivy-covered stone tower, and in it there was 
a wonderful clock. Proud were the Spitz- 
bergbadensteinheimers of their beautiful 
town, prouder of its stone tower, built no 
one knew when, but proudest were they of 
their unusually wonderful and wonderfully 
unusual town-clock / 

This clock one might look at, at any 
hour, and find nothing remarkable about it, 
in fact he might continue to look for eleven 
hours and a half, and still find it as others, 


1 70 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

but at the twelfth — then indeed it showed 
what was really in it ! 

At that time, all the strangers in the vil- 
lage, and all the village people themselves, 
gathered in the big markt-platz, or square, 
and gazed up expectantly at the clock. 
As it began to strike twelve, a small door 
at the right opened slowly, and out walked 
twelve little men — the hours — in stately 
procession ! Each was a foot high and 
made of wood, and although they walked 
somewhat jerkily, yet, considering that they 
had no knee-joints, they did remarkably 
well. 

“ Ach, wunderbar ! Wunderschon!” said 
everybody, but the little men, used to this 
fervent admiration, walked stiff-ly, slow-ly, 
on, and, passing in front of the dial, entered 
their house again, by a second little door 
at the left, the last one disappearing just as 
the clock, which had been solemnly “strik- 


NAUGHTINESS OF NUMBER NINE 171 

ing, strik-ing” all the time, said “twelve." 
(It was not always twelve by any means, 
when the clock said so, but as it did say so, 
and had twelve people at its back, no Spitz- 
bergbadensteinheimer had ever been bold 
enough to contradict it !) 

Now, one hot day in August, at half-past 
eleven (half an hour before it was time for 
the procession to move) there was great 
excitement in the little room behind the 
clock. A discussion was going on, and 
this was what it w r as about. It seems that, 
after having walked dutifully and unques- 
tioningly in that solemn procession for so 
many years, one of the little men, Number 
Nine, had rebelled! 

“I want to know, my brothers, what we 
gain by walking round there each day?” he 
grumbled. 

“We are doing our duty,” said one, “and 
that is our reward.” 


172 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“ Ugh!" said the little rebel, contemptu- 
ously. “ A pretty poor reward for leading 
such a stupid life. Do we ever run? No. 
Do we skip and jump merrily? Indeed we 
do not. Do we ever even reverse, and go 
the other way? Never — never. Just round 
and round day after day, week after week, 
month after month, and year after year. 
Oh, ’t is horrible ! ” 

“ And do you not know, Number Nine,” 
said one of his shocked companions, “that 
by leading this simple life we have won 
the love of everybody? Is it nothing to 
you to feel that the people look up to us 
with respect and admiration?” 

“No,” said the rebellious little man, 
crossly, “it isn’t. I don’t want to be 
looked up to. I want to be down among 
the people, and I ’ll be there, too,” he 
muttered, “and that before the hour has 
struck.” 


NAUGHTINESS OF NUMBER NINE 173 

Never had anything of this sort hap- 
pened ! The others were scandalized, and 
looked askance at the flushed face of 
Number Nine. 

“What makes him so cross-grained and 
naughty?” whispered one. 

“ Well,” said his neighbor, “ I am not 
surprised, for I happen to know that he is 
made out of a piece of cross-grained knotty 
wood ! I saw this myself. They made me 
before they did him, you know, and as I 
lay there, freshly painted, my bright new 
eyes saw many things. I certainly feel 
sorry for Number Nine.” 

“So do I,” agreed the other. “What 
you have said explains much. Poor fellow, 
he is more to be pitied than blamed.” 

But there was now no time for further 
talk, as the tower-clock pointed to one 
minute before twelve. The loyal village 
people had gathered as usual in the market- 


174 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


place to see the procession. The Burgo- 
master’s watch said that it was a quarter 
before twelve, but that was a secret which 
the worthy man kept strictly to himself. 



The ninth suddenly stopped, and fell down to the 
ground. 


The usual preliminary whirring sound 
was now heard — the little door at the right 
opened s-l-o-w-l-y, the clock said: “One” 
and the procession appeared. Out and 


NAUGHTINESS OF NUMBER NINE 175 

around in front of the dial came the first, 
second, and third little figure, followed by 
the fourth, fifth, and sixth, each moving with 
his usual stately jerk. Next came the sev- 
enth and eighth, and then — the ninth / 
But he, the rebellious one, suddenly stopped 
— stopped short, swayed frightfully from 
side to side, gave a wild jump out into the 
air, and then — down, down to the ground 
he shot, falling heavily, with a sickening, 
splintering crash / 

Eleven piercing shrieks of terror came 
from his brothers, but the sound was quite 
lost in the noise of the crowd below, which 
gathered about the poor little injured crea- 
ture, who lay, with outstretched arms, quite 
still upon the stone pavement. He had 
fainted — but no one knew it (few people 
realize how sensitive these small wooden 
men are). But they picked him up tenderly, 
and carried him to a man in the village 


1 76 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

who made wooden toys. On examination, 
it was found that the poor little fellow’s arm 
was broken, and both legs completely shat- 
tered — fearful quadruple - impacted - lateral 
fractures ! 

He suffered greatly, and as he lay there, 
glued and bandaged, he regretted bitterly 
ever having left his comfortable home in 
the clock-tower. When he was mended, 
the town clock-maker carried him to the 
tower again, and put him back in his place. 
But there proved to be a sad difficulty — 
for he did not quite “fit.” Either his new 
legs were too big for the place, or perhaps 
the place was too big for the legs ; anyway 
he certainly did not seem to stand firmly. 
So, to prevent his falling again, the man 
tied a strong string about his waist, and 
fastened one end to the figure in front, the 
other to the one behind ! 

It was, as you may imagine, a terrible 


NAUGHTINESS OF NUMBER NINE 177 


mortification to a person of his age and 
high position, not to be permitted to stand 
alone, but to be put once more in “ leading- 
strings.’ ’ But, sad as it was, he was forced 
to appear thus in public, every day as long 
as he lived ! 

If you ever go to Spitzbergbadenstein- 
heim, you can see him yourself (Number 
Nine, remember). 


YARG 


“Mamma,” said Charlotte, “may I walk 
up Grayrock Mountain, with Aunt Amy?” 

“Well, dearie,” answered Mamma, “isn’t 
this a misty day for Grayrock ? There will 
be no view there.” 

“That ’s the very reason we want to go ! ” 
explained Charlotte, “everybody climbs the 
mountain on clear days, and Aunt Amy and 
I thought we’d like to go when it’s misty 
and queer, so we can see the view when 
there is n’t any!” 

“Very well,” said Mamma smiling, “but 
there must be rubbers and the thick red 
sweater.” 

Aunt Amy was willing to go — she was 
that kind of an aunt — and getting her paint 

i"8 


YARG 


179 


brushes, folding easel, and so on, she was 
soon ready. This was the only fault dear 
Aunt Amy had — on the very nicest tramps 
she always insisted on taking her perfectly 
tiresome, smelly paint-things ! 

The two soon came to the path which led 
to Grayrock, for the quiet village lay curled 
at the foot of the big mountain. The path 
itself was narrow, steep, and seldom used. 
But Charlotte and Aunt Amy loved the old 
hill, and often climbed there on summer 
afternoons, and had dreadfully gay picnic 
teas at the summit ! 

On this chilly day, however, Aunt Amy 
was not quite as enthusiastic as usual, 
and before reaching the top she spread 
her shawl, opened her box, and began to 
paint ! 

“Oh, Auntie, please come onl” begged 
Charlotte. “ Let us see how the view looks 
when there is n’t any.” 


180 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Go yourself, dear,” said her aunt dream- 
ily; “it is n’t far, you know, and this fasci- 
nating silver-birch has simply got to have 
its picture painted.” 

When Aunt Amy spoke in that far-away 
voice, it was useless to tease or argue, so 
Charlotte went on alone. 

It was quite a stiff climb, but at last she 
saw the big rock which gave the hill its 
name, towering ghost-like above. The day 
had grown cool, and the little girl buttoned 
her gray jacket, glad now that under it was 
the thick red sweater. 

Calling back, she heard Aunt Amy’s an- 
swering hail, sounding far away and muffled, 
through the thick fog. Charlotte looked 
about timidly, for things had a strange, 
eerie appearance. Where the view usually 
lay, there was a soft sea of gray, and wisps 
of fog were floating lazily about, now lifting 
a bit, now hiding all. The trees, too, were 


YARG 


181 


talking mysteriously to each other, and the 
big rock looked very tall and solemn. 

“Ten times as big as usual, I should 
think,” whispered Charlotte, “but, just the 
same, I’m going up to its top. I’m not 
whispering ’cos I ’m afraid,” she added, 
“but ’cos somehow it does n’t seem to be 
a loud-talking day, up here.” 

On climbed the little girl. When al- 
most at the top, she happened to glance at 
the sharply pointed rock before her, and — 
stopped short, greatly startled ! For, as she 
looked, the top of the rock — if you can be- 
lieve me — apparently moved! 

This was certainly amazing, and at first 
the little girl supposed she must have been 
mistaken — that what she had seen was a 
bit of drifting fog, but while she was still 
gazing, it moved again ! 

“ Nonsense,” she said sharply to herself, 
“ you know perfectly well, Charlotte, that a 


18a CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


rock catit move, even if it wanted to, aw- 
fully! It must have been a little rabbit 
that was sitting there, or p’raps a cat. I ’m 
going up to see, anyway,” and she hurried 
to the top, for she was a fearless little creat- 
ure, and always liked to find out about 
things. But when she got there, what do 
you suppose she found ? Sitting calmly 
upon the rock, just as if he belonged there, 
and had always been there, was a wee, gray- 
clad man ! He wore a high pointed cap ; his 
whiskers were long and white, and in height 
he was certainly not over twelve inches ! 
Charlotte was sure she must be dreaming, 
and stood quite still, staring silently at the 
little gray person, fully expecting him to 
sail away and disappear. Suddenly, he 
turned his head and gave a perfectly awful 
jump, for he was quite as much surprised to 
see her as she was to see him. 

“Well, well, well,” he cried in a wee 


YARG 183 

squeaky voice, “who are you, Big-girl, 
and where do you come from?” 

“I’m Charlotte, and I came from the 
village,” she answered. “ And please — 
who are you?” 

“ I ’m myself, always,” said the wee man, 
“ and I came from my home down below. 
I have a home at home, you know. My 
name is Yarg — beautiful name, is n’t it ? ” 

“ It does n’t sound very beautiful to me,” 
stammered truthful little Charlotte. ‘ ‘ Where 
is your home-at-home, sir?” 

“ Oh, in the rock, over there,” and Yarg 
pointed to the right. 

“ But, why have n’t we seen each other 
before, I wonder?” continued Charlotte. 
“I ’ve been here a great many times, and I 
never saw you, — I did n’t even know you 
lived here.” 

“Geeroshkins, no ! ” said Yarg, “ I should 
say you did n’t, Girl. Few people do. I 


i 84 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

never saw you, either. In fact, although I 
have heard people talking in the distance, 
you are the first one I ever spoke to. Large, 
are n’t you, poor thing? And very un- 
pleasant-looking, too ! ” 

Charlotte, who was really a pretty little 
girl, was quite offended at this speech, but 
finding that the small man was looking 
kindly at her, and that he had no idea of 
being rude, she laughed, instead. 

“ Oh my ! ” said he, putting his hands 
to his ears, “what was that hateful noise 
you made — what were you doing?” 

“ I was laughing,” answered Charlotte, 
greatly amused. 

“Well, please don’t do it again. I dis- 
like it very much.” The little girl promised 
to be careful, but asked if she might smile. 

“Certainly, if you ’ll do it quietly,” said 
Yarg. (He really had no idea what a 
‘smile’ was, but didn’t like to confess it.) 


YARG 


185 


“Now tell me, Girl,” he continued after 
staring steadily at Charlotte for a moment, 
“tell me, what are those horrid yellow 
snakes hanging from your head?” 

“They aren’t snakes, they are curls,” 
she answered indignantly. 

“Awful, aren’t they? I s’pose you 
can’t get rid of them?” and Yarg shook 
his head at her, sympathetically. 

At this the little girl was quite hurt. 

“I don’t want to get rid of them. My 
family like them very much,” she said. 
“But, Yarg, why is it that no one has ever 
seen you, I wonder?” 

“Don’t wonder. Sit down, and I ’ll 
tell you,” said the small man. “You see, 
people walk here on pleasant days, While 
I never come up, on that kind of a day. 
In fact, I appear only on my birthday, any 
way, and not then, unless it be a soft gray 
one, like this.” 


1 86 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Oh, is this your birthday, Yarg?” 

“ Yes, ’t is, Girl, and my next one will 
be in five years and five fifths from now — 
the one after that, in six years and six 
sixths, and so on — and on.” 

Charlotte stared. “But how can you 
keep count, and know just how old you 
are?” 

“I don’t — so I’m never old! Here 
Yarg beckoned mysteriously to the child, 
and as she approached, whispered : “As you 
really wish to know, I ’ll tell you (in confi- 
dence), I’m about as old as the top of this 
hill! But please don’t mention it to 
people.” 

“I won’t,” said Charlotte earnestly, but 
she added : “ I think that your way of having 
a birthday is a terribly funny way. Now 
mine comes once a year regularly, and al- 
ways in the autumn.” 

“Tiresome arrangement, that,” remarked 


YARG 


187 


Yarg, drily. “Mine drops in almost any 
time, sometimes in autumn, sometimes in 
winter or summer.” 

“Yes, but, Yarg, how do you know when 
you are going to have one?” persisted 
Charlotte, anxiously. 

“ Oh, I feel it coming on. One has then 
an unmistakable older-iferous feeling, you 
know. When the birthday finally gets here, 
if the day happens to be a soft gray one, 
I scramble up and sit on this rock-point. 
Then, if a gray-clad person like yourself 
chances to come walking along, why, of 
course, in that case — here we both are ! 
But she must be strictly gray-clad, you 
know, from top to toe. Bright-colored 
clothes I cannot endure. They make me 
deadly ill! In fact” (here Yarg became 
excited, and, rising to his feet, screamed 
out,) “in fact, whenever I see bright colors, 
I always run — run like mad!” 


1 88 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Oh, I am so glad, then, that I wore my 
gray suit to-day,’’ cried the little girl- 
“Just suppose it had been my very-bright- 
blue dress?” 

“Don’t let us speak or even think of 
anything so dreadfully terribly awful, as 
that!” and the wee man shuddered, while 
Charlotte, suddenly remembering her scar- 
let sweater, drew her jacket carefully round 
her neck, so that no hint of it should ap- 
pear. “Will you please tell me,” she 
continued, eager to change the subject, 
“just how you came up here? But per- 
haps it ’s a secret, and you ’d rather 
not? ” 

“It ’s no secret. I came through the 
hole,” answered Yarg, gathering his filmy 
garments about him and smiling at her. 

“What hole?” 

“ ‘ What hole ? ’ That ’s an odd question, 
Girl. Through my own, of course.” 


YARG 189 

“But where is it?” inquired Charlotte, 
eagerly. 

“Hanging on the tree over there,” said 
the wee man, carelessly. “It’s a loop- 
hole, so I hung it up by its loop.” 

“Oh, how very interesting!” cried little 
Charlotte, springing to her feet. “Can’t I 
see it, please? I never saw a hung-up 
hole in my life!” 

“Don’t roar!" begged Yarg, nervously, 
covering his ears with his tiny hands. 
“Speak gently. As to seeing the hole, 
that ’s impossible, Big-Girl. Holes are 
meant to be gone through. They can’t 
be seen.” 

“Some can,” said Charlotte, earnestly, 
“for I have often seen big ones in, my 
own stockings, and I did n’t try to go 
through them, either.” 

“Well,” and Yarg yawned, “anyway, if 
you hadn’t gone through your stockings 


igo CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

first, there never would have been any 
holes to see.” 

Charlotte was somewhat confused at this 
reasoning, but admitted that what he said 
was true, adding timidly: 

“I hope, sir, that I can go into your 
house some time, for I’d like to see it 
very much.” 

“And I ’d like to have you see it, very 
much. Why not come now?” And here 
the wee man rose, and bowed with extreme 
politeness. 

Charlotte bowed too, and accepted the 
invitation. 

Yarg slipped down from his rocky seat, 
hurried to a big maple-tree near, from the 
hanging branches of which he took an 
invisible something, which he spread deftly 
over the rock. 

“ Now turn your back,” he whispered, 
“new-laid holes are nervous — hate to be 


YARG 


191 

watched. ‘A watched hole dreads the 
child,’ you know.” 

Charlotte did n’t know, but turned her 
back obediently. 

When the two looked again, the very 
accommodating hole had stretched itself 
out, until it made a fine large opening, 
which led straight into the rock ! 

“Take my hand,” said Charlotte. 

“No, no, no! Don’t touch me!” 
screamed Yarg in sudden terror. 

“ Why, what is the matter ? What would 
happen if I touched you ? ” inquired the lit- 
tle girl, surprised at his excitement. 

“ Something serious would happen — 
something too dreadful. It is the law. 
Don t do it! That ’s all,” was the cross 
answer. 

Now Charlotte did n’t like this tone 
at all, and, having been told that some- 
thing might happen, she was burning with 


1 92 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

curiosity to know what that something 
was. 

“He isn’t Papa nor Mamma, nor aunts 
nor uncles,” she reflected, “so I don’t 
have to obey him. I want very much to 
find out what would happen. I know it ’s 
rude, to do what he asked me not to, but, 
O , dear, I feel that I ’m going to be rude, 
and do it. But I ’ll be careful — and just 
touch him a very wee little!” 

So when Yarg turned his back, Char- 
lotte, after a moment’s hesitation, put out 
her right hand slowly, and timidly touched 
him with the very tips of her five naughty 
little fingers ! 

Instantly the wee man whirled, and 
looking reproachfully at her, burst into 
tears, while Charlotte gazed at him, con- 
science-stricken. At that moment a soft 
“whirring” was heard, and from all sides 
came the sound of shrill, elfish laughter : 


YARG 


i93 


“ Hu / Hu / Hu f Hu / Hu / ” 

Much surprised, the little girl looked 
about, and then started back in complete 
bewilderment, for there, hopping about in a 
circle, and giggling shrilly, were five new 
little Imps ■' Each was exactly like Yarg 
in appearance — pointed cap, white whiskers, 
and all, the only difference being that he 
wore a silver chain, was roly-poly, and 
well-fed, while these little creatures were 
thinner than thin wisps. They were weird- 
looking and elusive, too, and Charlotte 
fancied that she could see right through 
them ! 

“Are they really real?” she asked her- 
self, conscience-stricken. 

“Now see what you have done, Big- 
Girl!” sobbed the wee man. “Why, oh, 
why, did you touch me?” 

“Indeed, I am very s-sorry, I did,” 
stammered poor Charlotte. 


i 9 4 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“I warned you,” moaned Yarg, “and 
goodness ter gracious ter sakes alive, why 
didn’t you obey? Instead, you allowed 
five of your world-fingers to touch me, and 
the minute that happened, of course five 
more of me appeared — one for each finger ! ” 

“ Ha / Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” shrieked 
the Imps mockingly, each in a different 
key. 

Charlotte examined her fingers with a 
new interest. 

“Now, how in the world could they have 
done this thing?” she asked herself. “They 
never did anything of the sort before. They 
are n’t magic, but just plain common 
fingers.” 

“Of course they are common,” said Yarg 
rudely, “just as common as they can be, 
but — they touched ME — and I am very un- 
common ! Anyway, it has happened, and 
it is the law.” 


YARG 


195 


“Why is it the law?” demanded Char- 
lotte. 

“There is never any ‘why’ about the law. 
It simply is.” Here Yarg began once more 
to weep dismally, while the five Sprites 
bounded about, and cackled with delight. 
Charlotte shook her head at them and 
frowned, but they only made frightful faces 
and stuck out their tongues, saucily ! 

“ Horrid little things, I don’t believe 
they ’re really real, at all,” said Charlotte, at 
last. “Can’t we get rid of them, Yarg? 
Throw them over the cliff, or something of 
that sort?” 

Now Charlotte was a very kind-hearted 
child, and she had never killed anything in 
her life. These tiny weird creatures, how- 
ever, in their floating cobwebby garments, 
did n’t appear to be truly alive, and it 
seemed quite a natural way of disposing 
of them ! 


1 96 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

But Yarg only shook his head sadly, 
and said : “ I wish we could get rid of them 
in such an easy way as that, but ’t is im- 
possible. If you threw them over the cliff, 
they would simply rebound and return at 
once. They would n’t fall down, for they 
will not obey any law, even the law of 
gravitation. Throw one of them over, and 
you ’ll see for yourself what happens.” 

Little Charlotte did n’t understand all 
this speech, but, having received Yarg’s 
permission, she seized one of the Imps 
and with all her strength threw it over the 
rocks ! 

The buoyant little creature laughed glee- 
fully, and, clinging to a wisp of mist, stood 
for a second gracefully upright on it, and 
then half bounded, half flew, back to his 
companions, who welcomed him with 
piercing shrieks of triumph. 

“There, you see how ’t is I ” remarked 


YARG 


197 


the King, sadly. “One cannot get rid of 
them, — they are indestructible.” 

Charlotte’s heart sank, as she realized the 
mischief which her curiosity had caused. 
Yarg, seeing this, said kindly, “Do you 
still think you ’d like to come with me, Big- 
Girl, and have a look at my home?” 

The little girl nodded eagerly, and fol- 
lowed him, the five uninvited others shuf- 
fling and clattering along, too, giggling 
foolishly at every step. At first, the party 
passed through the hole and walked along 
a dark passage, into the rock. It soon be- 
came light, however, and they found them- 
selves in a big bare hall. A stone fireplace 
was at one end ; before it, a beautiful silver- 
gray-fox rug. 

Yarg led Charlotte to an opening at one 
side. “That is my sleeping-room,” he 
announced proudly. 

They all peered in, and there by the wee 


198 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

bed stood a tiny gray-clad woman, deftly 
smoothing up cobwebby sheets and blankets. 

“I like a good wide bed, you see,” said 
Yarg. 

“/ don’t. I want mine narrow,” 
squealed one of the Imps. 

“ Give me four blankets,” cried the second. 

“ One for me, — but have it thick,” snarled 
number three. 

“ I want two hair-pillows.” 

“ Pillows ? I hate ’em!” shouted the last. 

The little gray woman looked out, 
despairingly. 

“Alas, Master, must I work for them all ? ” 
she inquired in a low voice, and as the 
King nodded sadly, she fell fainting to the 
floor ! 

After she had recovered, the others 
walked on, until they reached a second 
opening in the wall. 

“ My laundry,” said Yarg. And there 


YARG 


ig 9 


stood another little woman hanging out 
cunning gray silk shirts, and wee socks, on 
a line which stretched from side to side. 

“I have silk underwear, you see,” vol- 
unteered the King. 

“So do I,” said the first Imp. 

“Woollen for me,” shouted the second. 

“Mine are linen — fine unbleached linen,” 
and number three scowled. 

“No, no,” squealed the fourth, excitedly, 
“ flannel always, always flannel.” 

“GrrrrrI” said the fifth and last, “I 
don’t wear — any!” 

“Must I wash for them?” inquired the 
laundress anxiously, as the hubbub died 
away, and when the King nodded, she, like 
the chamber-maid, fainted. Soon the pro- 
cession went on, the Imps quarrelling or 
giggling foolishly among themselves. 

Charlotte guessed that they must be near- 
ing the kitchen, fora delicious smell greeted 


200 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


them. In this room, they found a small and 
very fierce-looking man-cook who was pre- 
paring dinner, before a cunning stove, and 
using the wee-est and most fascinating 
dishes that ever were seen ! 

“ I have a fine cook,” whispered Yarg, 
“and he gives me very fine dinners — soup, 
fish, meat, and vegetables (in and out of 
season), and a nice dessert — always some- 
thing that I can really eat ! ” 

“My dinners must be served twice each 
day ! ” said the first Imp. 

“I want two kinds o’ soup I” snarled the 
second. 

“One soup for me,” howled the third, 
“but two desserts.” 

“Afternoon tea with pink frosted 
muffins!” said the next. 

“I want choc’late ice-cream for break- 
fast,” snapped the last, shaking his fists, 
excitedly. 


YARG 


201 


The little Cook glanced fiercely at each 
one, in turn. 

“See here, Master, must I cook for those 
idiots?” he asked. 

The King seemed a bit anxious. “Well, 
you know,” he said timidly, “the law is 
quite firm upon that point.” 

“Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” shouted the 
five Sprites, in shrill chorus. 

But the little Cook-man did n’t faint — 
not he I 

Instead, he approached, bearing in his 
hand a long sharp knife, scowling moro- 
ciously as he came, and gnashing his sharp 
teeth ogre-ifically ! 

“Get out of me kitchen, one and all,” he 
shouted. “Go, before I murder ye dead ! ” 

“He means it — he never exaggerates,” 
cried Yarg nervously. “Run, everybody 
run! ” 

And everybody did run, including 


202 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


Charlotte ! They hurried and they scurried, 
and they scooted and they scampered, out 
of the kitchen, across the hall, through the 
long entrance passage and out into the air, 
before they dared to stop a bit I 



Yarg and Charlotte looked silently at 
each other, for a moment. 

“What an escape ! ” said she. 

“Yes, and it is most fortunate that the 
hole happened to be a loop-one,” said the 
King, “ one can escape twice as well through 
a loop-hole, you know.” 


YARG 


203 


Meanwhile, the five Imps began to 
scream and quarrel among themselves. 

“Oh, Yarg, aren’t they perfectly awful? 
Is n’t there some way in which we can get 
rid of them?” asked Charlotte. 

“There is, but — it is an impossible one,” 
and the wee man sighed. 

“And what is the way? How could it 
be done?” 

“Well, my dear, the law says, if any one 
could get the Five to stop quarrelling and 
to agree about anything, that is, to agree 
sufficiently so that they would all say the 
same thing at the same time, they would then 
be obliged to leave the earth — to disappear. 
That, however, is an utter impossibility. It 
can’t be done — -just look at them now ! ” 

Charlotte did so, and indeed what the 
wee man had suggested did seem an im- 
possibility, for the horrid little things were 
standing in a circle, brandishing their fists 


20 4 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

at each other and shouting, “No! Yes! 
’Tis! ’T ain’t! You’re another!” at the 
top of their lungs. 

Charlotte closed her eyes for a moment 
and thought deeply, for she was a quick- 
minded child. 

Suddenly an idea came to her ! 

“May I speak to them?” she asked the 
little King. He nodded. 

Charlotte then called them aside, one by 
one, whispered something to each in turn, 
and after she had done so, it would be hard 
to find five happier-looking Imps ! 

“You have heard what I said, and you 
understand. Now stand in a row,” she 
commanded. 

They obeyed, and, as they stood there 
quietly, the little girl said to them : “ Friends, 
I am going to ask you a very-extremely- 
important question, and I want you all to 
answer it, truthfully. Yarg is your king — 


YARG 


205 


he wears the silver chain. Now, tell me — 
Who do you think would make a better 
king than he?" And in answer to this 
question five shrill voices shouted enthu- 
siastically, and all together , “I!" 

But no sooner had the shout died away 
than there came five little “puff! puff! 
puff! puff! puffs!” and five little nothings 
stood where the Imps had just been ! The 
law had been fulfilled. When Yarg found 
what had happened — that he had been 
really freed — he shouted for joy, and so did 
Charlotte. 

“Wasn’t it a great idea?” she cried, 
and she danced up and down till she grew 
red in the face. 

“I am perfectly roasting,” she cried, “I 
must take off my jacket and get cool.” 
Unbuttoning it, she quickly threw it down, 
quite forgetting, alas! that underneath — 
was the piercingly-bright red sweater / 


206 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

The poor little King gave one agonized 
look at it, and then, with a pitiful cry, flew 
to the rock, and jumped headlong into the 
hole. 

“Oh, Yarg, dear Yarg, come back! I 
quite forgot!” shouted poor Charlotte, 
hastily putting on her gray jacket again, 
and buttoning it to the very throat! 

But the appeal was in vain, the King did 
not return. 

Hurrying to the rock, Charlotte examined 
it carefully. There was nothing to be seen, 
for tidy little Yarg had gathered up the 
hole and taken it with him, when he went 
through ! So, although poor Charlotte 
knocked and called for a long time, the 
rock remained as before ! 

As it was now beginning to grow dark, 
the little girl reluctantly left, and walked 
slowly down the mountain. When she 
came to Aunt Amy, she found that the 


YARG 


20 7 


picture had been painted, and that the paints 
were being put away. 

But was n’t it a shameful shame, that 
Charlotte wore the piercingly-bright 
crimson sweater ? 


THE WALKING BOY 


In the summer, Albert spent two weeks 
in the country with his father and mother, 
and during that time he never wore shoes. 
He trotted about in his little bare feet, 
just as all the country boys did, and was 
therefore as cool as a cucumber, and much 
happier. 

One day he went out for a walk up 
toward “Mount Mystery,” and through 
some beautiful woods. 

Pretty soon he met a strange boy, some- 
what older than himself, who was walking 
round and round in a big circle, as fast as 
he could go! He was a pleasant-looking 
lad, but his face was white and drawn, and 
he seemed to be in an exhausted condition. 


208 


THE WALKING BOY 


209 


“Where are you going?’’ asked Albert. 

“Nowhere,” answered Joe (for that was 
his name). 

“Then — why do you go there so fast?” 

“Because I must,” said the Walking Boy, 
sadly, “I cannot stop! And if you want 
to talk to me, you will have to come, 
too.” 

Albert trotted along by the boy’s side, 
wondering what it all meant. 

“I am unable to stop, even for a mo- 
ment,” explained Joe, “and the reason is 
this: I have on my feet some walking- 
boots, not the common kind, you under- 
stand, but some real walking-boots! It 
was two years ago this month that I first 
put them on, and since then I have been 
walking, walking steadily, with never a 
moment’s rest ! I suppose they are magic 
boots — I do not know!” and the poor 
boy’s voice broke ! 

14 


2io CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“ How perfectly awful ! ” cried Albert, 
horrified. 

“Awful indeed,” said the other, “for I 
cannot even stop long enough to take them 
off, but, in spite of fatigue, must keep on 
walk-walk-walking, night and day! I 
snatch blueberries and blackberries from the 
bushes, as I pass, and thus keep myself alive, 
but one tires of a constant fruit diet, and I 
feel miserable and ill, most of the time.” 

“I should think you would,” said Albert, 
sympathetically. “And is there nothing 
that will help you — that will make these 
magic boots stop?” 

“No, nothing,” answered Joe, sadly; 
“that is, there is one thing that might help, 
I suppose, but it is out of the question, for 
it is well-nigh impossible to get.” 

“What is this wonderful thing?” 

“I will tell you about it,” began Joe, 
solemnly. “Many years ago, there lived 


THE WALKING BOY 


2 1 1 


not far from here a Mrs. Scrugg, a farmer’s 
wife, who was insane. One winter, she 
made a braided rug, and she put in the 
colors in such a ghastly way that, without 
exception, every one who looked upon it 
fainted immediately! It was called ‘the 
fainting-rug,’ in fact.” 

“My, it must have been a peach!” inter- 
rupted Albert. 

“ I suppose it was. Soon after she had 
finished it, the poor woman died. But ’t is 
said that the rug is still owned by the 
family. Now, if some one — some kind per- 
son — were to bring this mat here, and lay it 
in my path, I should faint at once, and so 
stop walking. No one could keep on 
walking while lying on the ground in a 
dead faint, you know.” 

“And while you were busy fainting, I 
could take off your boots, couldn’t I?” 
asked Albert. 


2i2 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“That’s the idea exactly.” 

“And a mighty good one, too! I’ll go 
to the Scruggs’ at once, Joe. Where do 
they live?” 

“Up the road, in a little red hut, under 
a wide-boughed ash-tree. They are always 
there between three and four in the after- 
noon. But, Albert, it is not an easy matter 
to get the rug, they say. There are many 
difficulties. Have you the time and pa- 
tience to overcome them?” and Joe sighed 
dreadfully. 

“ I will go there to-morrow, and I ’ll try,” 
answered Albert, heartily. 

The next afternoon, bright and early, 
he returned, thoughtfully bringing a basket 
of food for the poor hungry Walking 
Boy. 

“Keep up your heart, Joe. I’ll soon 
bring you the fainting-rug,” he shouted 
cheerily. 


THE WALKING BOY 


213 


“I hope so,” responded Joe in a muffled 
voice, — which was perhaps not to be won- 
dered at, as he was trying to eat two big 
doughnuts, at the same moment! “But 
see here, Albert,” he proceeded, “before 
you go, tell me one thing, — are you a poet ? 
Can you make verses?” 

“ Verses? No, I can’t,” admitted Albert, 
in astonishment. 

“Then take this,” and the Walking Boy 
held out a small bottle, containing four 
white pellets. “These are Poetical Pills,” 
he explained, “and before asking for 
the rug, take one. Mr. Scrugg used to be 
extremely fond of poetry, I remember.” 

“But I don’t understand,” interrupted 
Albert, “how a simple little pill can make 
a poet out of me?” 

“Oh, it takes but little to make a poet ! ” 
responded the other calmly. “Now fare- 
well, and good luck to you.” 


i 4 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


Albert marched away, full of courage, and, 
after a hard walk of twenty minutes or so, 
came to the little red hut, under the wide- 
boughed ash- tree just as Joe had described 
it. 

Going to its one door, he knocked tim- 
idly. No answer. Then he opened the door, 
looked in, and saw lying on the floor a man 
— fast asleep. 14 ’T is probably Mr. Scrugg,” 
thought the little boy. 

“Sir,” he began — then, suddenly remem- 
bering what Joe had said, he took out the 
small bottle marked “Poetical Pills” and 
swallowed one. 

No sooner had he done so than the charm 
began to work. He opened his lips and, 
bowing to the sleeping man, said sweetly : 

44 Oh, sleeping Scrugg, 

Your fainting-rug 
I ’d like (yes like), 

To borrow. 


THE WALKING BOY 


215 


“ The pretty thing 
I ’ll surely bring 
Right back (yes back), 

To-morrow.” 

But, alas ! even poetry like this, seemed 
to have no effect upon the sleeping man, 
who simply continued to sleep. 

Albert stepped into the hut and shook 
him gently, but it was of no use. Just then, 
a little girl entered the room. 

“O dear!” she cried, “who are you, 
boy? I am Dorothy, and I am indeed glad 
to see you. There has been no one here 
for a year 1 ” 

Albert told her who he was, explained 
his errand, and the little girl said : 

“O dear! I wish I could lend the rug 
to you, but I can’t, and I’ll tell you why: 
My poor mother died three years ago, and 
since then father and I have done the cook- 
ing and all the work. One night, by mis- 


2 1 6 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


take, he put some poppy-seed into his tea. 
After he drank it he at once fell asleep, just 
as you see him, and unfortunately he hap- 
pened to lie down directly on the famous 
fainting-rug !” Taking Albert’s hand, the 
little girl led him to the sleeping old man, 
who lay, as she had said, stretched at full 
length in the very middle of the precious 
rug! 

“I cannot rouse him,” said Dorothy, 
“ cannot even turn him over, because his 
poor hair and beard have now grown into 
the rug itself. O dear!” here the little 
daughter pointed sadly, and Albert saw 
that what she had said was true, for the 
unfortunate man’s long hair had twisted, 
and twined, and woven itself right into the 
rug, while his enormously long beard was 
all tangled up in it, also! At this point, 
Dorothy began to weep softly. Albert felt 
very badly. 


THE WALKING BOY 


217 


“Is there nothing that will help your 
father?” he asked sympathetically. 

“Nothing,” answered the child, “that is, 
unless we could get a drop of the essence 
of esnesnon, and put it in his mouth. They 
tell me if that were done, he would wake 
up, but, of course, the esnesnon is a very 
hard thing to find, and there is no one to 
get it for us.” 

“Where is it?” asked Albert, all in- 
terest. 

“Oh, it is up there,” said Dorothy, point- 
ing. “It gushes out from the big white 
rock every ten minutes, between three and 
four in the afternoon. It belongs to the 
horrible Croco-Snake, you know, and he 
eats it and likes it.” 

“Won’t he give you some?” 

“ No, he ’s terribly selfish, and refuses to 
give even a drop to anybody.” 

“Have you ever seen him?” 


2 1 8 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“No, indeed, I wouldn’t dare to even 
look at him,” and the little girl shuddered. 
“Everyone is afraid of the Croco-Snake, 
you know. He ’s perfectly awful. Part of 
him is crocodile, and part is snake I ” 

“Where does he live?” 

“ Near the very tall birch-tree, a mile 
up the path, ’’said the child. “O dear! I 
wish you were a brave enough boy to 
get the esnesnon for us ; it would be so 
pleasant to have a father again ! ” 

“Well,” said Albert, slowly, “I am not 
a bit braver than other boys, but I am 
going to try to get the stuff for you, any- 
way. As it is now after four o’clock, 
however, I’ll have to wait until to-mor- 
row.” 

Running down the path, he stopped to 
tell Joe what had happened, and then 
hurried home. 

The next afternoon, Albert left his house 


THE WALKING BOY 


219 


at two, and at quarter before three he 
reached Joe. 

“All right?” he inquired. 

“Yes, except that day by day I grow 
weaker,” answered Joe, “but never mind 
that. Go along, and remember before you 
speak to the Croco-Snake, to take one of 
the Poetical Pills. It is a great protection.” 

Albert reached the little red hut in half an 
hour, and at the door stood the Scrugg child. 

“Still asleep?” he asked. 

“Still asleep,” she answered sadly. 

On trudged the boy, and in ten minutes 
came to a very tall birch-tree. Underneath, 
at the left, was the white stone, with a 
small, perfectly round opening in the middle. 
Over this opening was roughly cut the word 

“Esnesnon!” 

Albert went round the rock and looked at 
the word from the other side, finding to his 


220 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


amazement that from there the letters were 
twisted backward ! 

“That is certainly a queer thing,” said 
the boy. “When I look at the word from 
the left it spells ‘Esnesnon,’ but when I 
look at it from the right side, it is 
‘Nonsense!’ ” 

“ It is! It is! It is!" said a saucy bird. 

Albert paid no attention to this imper- 
tinence, but began to examine carefully the 
opening in the rock. “That is evidently 
the hole out of which the famous essence 
spurts,” said he. 

“You are right,” said a horrible voice, 
at his side. “It is the hole, young man, 
but — -grrrr! every drop of the essence gushes 
for me — and for me only!” 

Albert, much frightened, looked about, 
but saw nothing. The voice was dreadful, 
however, having a repulsive, slimy-scaly 
sound, half crocodile, half snake ! 


THE WALKING BOY 


221 


At that moment, from the hole in the 
white stone, there came an odd choking 
“glugity glug! ” and a bright pink liquid 
gushed from it. The Croco-Snake jumped 
nimbly, just in time to catch it in his big 
mouth ! 

When Albert really saw the beast, he 
was so frightened that he almost fell down I 
The monster was at least seven or eight feet 
long, with a greenish-brown scaly body, 
vicious green eyes, and a broad flat head 
which was fastened to its body by an un- 
naturally thin neck. It seemed to be in a 
very bad humor, too, and was gnashing its 
teeth and frowning furiously ! Albert sum- 
moned up his courage, however, and was 
about to speak, when he remembered, just 
in time, that he must first take a Poetical 
Pill ! So, hurriedly popping one into his 
mouth, he bowed gracefully to the creature, 
and said : 


222 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“ I ’d like, dear Sir, some esnesnon, 

The essence which you keep; 

One little drop in old Scrugg’s mouth 
Will end his lengthy sleep.” 

At these musical words, the Croco-Snake 
stopped gnashing his teeth, the furious 
frown left his gnarled forehead, and acosey, 
comfortable purring sound came from his 
thick lips, which widened slowly into a 
friendly smile. 

“Boy, kindly repeat those beautiful 
words,” said he, “I just dote on poetry.” 

Albert repeated the little verse, with 
much fire and expression, and the Croco- 
Snake stretched himself luxuriously, and 
purred more loudly yet. But he said noth- 
ing in answer, and Albert, after waiting for 
a few moments, in vain, ventured at last to 
ask timidly if he could spare a drop of the 
wonderful essence. 

“No,” said the creature, “I can’t. There 



“Boy,” said the Croco-Snake, “ I just dote on poetry.” 


223 




224 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

is not much of it, anyway, and what there 
is, I need for my own use.” 

“Oh,” said the poor boy, “I am so dis- 
appointed. Perhaps you would be willing 
to sell me a drop ?” and he held out twenty- 
five cents. 

“ Ugh," snapped the creature. 

“Well,” persisted Albert, who, having 
gone thus far, was determined not to 
give the matter up, “is there nothing 
you want, Sir, nothing I can get for you, 
in exchange for just one little drop of the 
esnesnon?” 

“ I want nothing — nothing at all,” said 
the Croco-Snake, crossly, and, to Albert’s 
dismay, he turned and crawled awayl He 
had gone but a few feet, however, when he 
stopped and said slowly: “Of course, Boy, 
if any one should offer me the collar, the 
collar -set- with -emeraloons, you under- 
stand, well — then, I dare say, I might be 


THE WALKING BOY 


225 


induced to part with a drop — -just one drop 
— of the essence.” 

“Where is the collar?” asked Albert, 
eagerly. 

“At present it is round the neck of a horrid 
little black-and-white animal. Would n’t 
it look perfectly lovely on me, eh?” 

“A green collar would just match your 
eyes,” answered Albert, who wished to be 
truthful, and yet not offend the monster. 
“Where does this little black-and-white 
animal, with the collar, live?” he continued 
in a moment. 

“Under a very tall walnut-tree, farther 
up the path. He is there every afternoon 
between three and four.” Here the Croco- 
Snake yawned loudly. 

“What is his name?” inquired Albert. 

“Skunk!" answered the Croco-Snake, 
calmly, and then jumping to catch the last 
drop of esnesnon, which gurgled forth at 

15 


226 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

this moment, he crawled slowly off into the 
bushes. Albert’s heart sank way down ! 
He was frightened at the thought of go- 
ing to any skunk’s house, for any purpose 
whatsoever. So he trudged sadly down 
the hill, till he reached the Walking Boy. 
To him he told the story, and the two 
looked gloomily at each other. 

“You give up the search now?” inquired 
Joe, anxiously. 

Albert looked silently at him for a mo- 
ment, then said courageously: “No, I 
do not give it up, Joe. I will call on the 
Skunk to-morrow.” 

“Brave boy,” said Joe. “But do not 
forget to take a pill before speaking to him. 
He is simply crazy about poetry. In fact, 
I have heard that he writes it himself, 
sometimes.” 

The next day, the appointed hour found 
Albert trudging up the now familiar path 


THE WALKING BOY 


227 


by the Walking Boy, who looked white 
and feeble, but who waved his hand en- 
couragingly, past Mr. Scrugg’s hut, by the 
Croco-Snake’s stone, until he saw before 
him the very tall walnut-tree. Directly 
underneath it, sat a small, sleek, black-and- 
white animal, who was looking off, appar- 
ently admiring the view. 

Albert knew that this was the particular 
Skunk he was after, for round the little 
creature’s neck he could see the collar-set- 
with-emeraloons, which glistened greenly 
in the sun. With a quickly beating heart 
the boy approached, not forgetting this 
time to take a pill. 

“Ahem, Sir,” he began softly. 

At this the Skunk gave a jump of aston- 
ishment, then rose and glared angrily at 
him! Albert felt very unhappy indeed, 
but he bowed and said sweetly, though his 
voice trembled a little : 


228 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“ If I holler 
For your collar 
Will you listen ? 

Will you hear ? 

If I take it 
I will make it 
Up to you, oh ! 

Skunky dear ! ” 

At this the Skunk’s whole manner 
changed. He smiled very broadly, and 
said in the sweetest way : 

“ Are you lying, 

Sir, or trying, 

Sir, to steal my 
Collar-ette f 
You can’t get it, 

I won’t let it, 

No one ’s ever 
Had it yet ! ” 

“Ah, indeed, is that so?” said Albert, 
stupidly. He had never met a poetical 


THE WALKING BOY 229 

skunk before, and really did n’t know what 
to say. 

“ Now,” said the Skunk in a high squeaky 
voice, “if I give you my collar, you say you 
will ‘make it up’ to me. Just what do you 
mean by that? Explain yourself.” 

“I c-an’t,” stammered poor Albert. “I- 
I-was just fooling.” 

“Impossible,” said the Skunk, angrily. 
“Don’t you know, young man, that no one 
ever fools with a Skunk f ” 

Albert, terror-stricken, remained silent. 
This time the Poetical Pills had gotten him 
into trouble. They had forced his lips to 
say the words, and now there was really 
nothing that he could offer the Skunk. 
However, in a few moments, he plucked up 
courage and asked timidly if the Skunk 
would be willing to give up the collar in 
exchange for anything. 

“Certainly not!” cried the little animal, 


2 3 o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


indignantly. “ I adore my lovely collar, 
and would not exchange it for anything on 
earth — on earth,” he repeated, “that is — 
unless — ” here the Skunk paused for a full 
moment, “well,” he continued, “to speak 
frankly, unless any one were to offer me 
The Cabbage.” 

“Oh,” cried Albert eagerly, “if that is 
all, I will bring you one, at once. ’T is 
easy enough to get a cabbage.” 

“'Taint!” said the Skunk, crossly. “Of 
course it may be an easy thing to get a 
Cabbage, but not The Cabbage.” 

“Is the one you want a particular one?” 
asked the little boy. 

“It is. In fact it is a very unusually 
particular one, for ’t is a Skunk Cabbage!” 

“But,” said Albert slowly, “a skunk 
cabbage is also quite common.” 

“'Taint!” said the Skunk, as before. 
“That is, Skunk Cabbages may be com- 


THE WALKING BOY 


231 


mon, but The Skunk Cabbage is perfectly 
uncommon! It is a ‘never-ender,’ you 
see, never gives out. You nibble one nice 



Guarded by the bare-footed, long-necked boy. 


little, tender little, luscious little leaf, and 
out pops another nice little, tender little, 
luscious little leaf, to take its place ! It is 
a useful and pleasant thing to have in the 
Skunk family.” 


232 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“Where is it to be found?” enquired 
Albert. 

“Farther up the path. It grows in a 
field, under a spreading maple-tree, and is 
guarded by the Bare-footed Long-necked 
Boy. He sees visitors every day between 
three and four (and when he sees them he 
sends ’em away, at once,” he added in a 
low voice). 

Albert was relieved to find that the 
Cabbage was guarded by a boy, like him- 
self. 

“It is late now, but I will surely call 
there to-morrow,” he said. “Good-bye!” 
and bowing politely, he walked away. 

“ The Skunk Cabbage is the sixth one 
in the fourth row,” squealed the Skunk 
after him. 

“All right,” shouted Albert. 

"•Taint!” 

“That seems to be his favorite word,” 


THE WALKING BOY 


233 


thought Albert to himself, as he hurried to 
Joe’s. 

“It is too provoking, Albert,” said he, 
after hearing the story of the day; “you 
will now give the thing up, I sup- 
pose?” 

“No, indeed,” Albert said firmly, “only 
I do hope that this time I shall be success- 
ful, for we are going home, the day after 
to-morrow.” 

“ Let us hope for the best, then. I know 
all about that Cabbage Guarder, up there — 
he is also a lover of poetry, like the others. 
So do not forget to take the pill,” cau- 
tioned the Walking Boy. 

The following day, Albert started much 
earlier on account of the distance he had to 
go, but after passing the many familiar 
places, he finally reached the top of the 
mountain, where in a level field he saw to 
his joy, many cabbages. Big, and mid- 


234 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


dling, and wee tender baby ones, were 
growing there, happily. In their midst, on 
what looked like a high piano-stool, sat the 
Bare-footed Boy. He was like other 
boys, except that he had a fearfully and 
wonderfully long neck — oh, it must have 
been twenty inches long, and that is pretty 
long, you know, for a neck! Albert saw 
at once, however, how useful it must be to 
him, in guarding the cabbages. For with- 
out moving his body, he could turn his 
head round with ease, in any direction he 
wished, and no one could approach with- 
out his knowing it. 

The Boy at once caught sight of Albert, 
and frowned. Then, lifting the long stick 
he carried, he said menacingly, “ What 
d’yerwant, Boy? Go ’way!” 

“Albert remembered and popped a pill 
(the last one he had) into his mouth, and 
repeated softly : 


THE WALKING BOY 


235 


“ May I have that charming Cabbage, 
Growing yonder in the row ? 

Will you, won’t you, give it to me 
For the Skunk, who lives below ?” 

The effect of this was wonderful, for the 
Boy dropped his big stick, smiled pleas- 
antly, and held out his hand eagerly, to 
Albert. 

“That was a very beautiful poem,” he 
said cordially. Albert blushed, and the 
Boy asked him to sit down. “ If you want 
a cabbage, take it,” he said, “take any one 
you like — except the sixth one in the fourth 
row.” 

“Oh, but the sixth one in the fourth row 
happens to be the very one — in fact the 
only one — I want,” and poor Albert’s heart 
sank. 

“Can’t have that one,” said the Cabbage 
Guarder, firmly. “That is The Cabbage, 
you know, and I ’m guarding it. I have to 


236 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

give twenty times more guard to that one 
than to any of the others.” 

“Well, I am awfully disappointed,” said 
Albert, “I’d give almost anything for it,” 
he added. 

To this, the Bare-footed Boy said nothing 
for fully five minutes, then bending forward, 
he whispered eagerly: “See here, I have 
been in this field for four weary years, guard- 
ing The Cabbage. All that time I have sat 
here on this stool. That is a tiring thing 
to do, and I long for a chance to get up 
and walk. “ Indeed I feel as if I could walk 
forever I But, of course, during this long 
time my feet have become so tender that 
I cannot take many steps without boots. 
Now, do you — ah, do you — happen to know 
anybody who has some good strong walking- 
boots, which he would be willing to give me ? ” 

“ I do, indeed I do,” cried Albert. “ Dear 
Long-neck, I know a boy who has a pair 


THE WALKING BOY 


237 


of walking-boots, which he wants very- 
much to get rid of. But oh — I forgot! 
The boots I speak of are really, truly ‘ walk- 
ing boots,’ and they insist on walking all 
the time — of their own accord! In fact, 
they will not stop / Of course you would n’t 
want them?” 

“You are mistaken,” cried the Long- 
neck Boy, excitedly. “They are just ex- 
actly and absolutely the kind I do want. 
For after these long years of complete rest, 
I could walk forever / Go, Albert ! Get 
them at once!” 

“Alas!” said Albert, “’tis impossible. 
Their owner cannot part with them until 
someone brings him the fainting-rug.” 

“Then get the fainting-rug.” 

“I cannot. The owner is so strongly 
attached to it that he cannot tear himself 
away unless a drop of the famous essence 
of esnesnon is put in his mouth.” 


238 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Then hurry and get for him this 
essence,” cried Long-neck, impatiently. 

“I can’t,” said Albert, “for alas! the 
Croco-Snake who owns the esnesnon- 
spring, refuses to give me even a single 
drop ! That is, he says he will not unless 
— I get for him the collar-set-with-emera- 
loons !” 

“A simple thing, that! Go and get it 
for him immediately,” urged the other boy. 

“I can’t, because the Skunk loves the 
collar and will not give it up, unless — 
unless, in exchange, I bring him a Cab- 
bage.” 

“Well, for goodness sake, boy, why 
don’t you get him one? There are hun- 
dreds of them growing right here. Pick 
one!” 

“But — ’t is a Skunk Cabbage he needs.” 

“They are also common. Get one.” 

“You still don’t understand. ’T is not 


THE WALKING BOY 


239 


a common, but a particular Skunk Cabbage. 
In other words, ’t is The Skunk Cabbage he 
wishes ! ” 

“What?” roared Long-neck, “the black 
and white audacity of him! He really 
wants the One I guard!” 

Albert nodded. 

“Well, well, well, well, and also and 
moreover, well, well, well, well, well!” 
cried the Cabbage Guarder, in wildest ex- 
citement. “Did you ever? Did anybody 
ever ? Answer me that 1 ” H ere he stopped, 
and bending down his long neck, rested 
his head on his hand, and appeared to be 
thinking deeply. Then he said slowly, and 
with great sadness: “Albert, I am afraid 
we must give up the whole thing. I can- 
not let you have The Cabbage, for it would 
not be right. I am here to guard it, for the 
law is that no person must have it.” 

“But, Long-neck,” cried Albert eagerly, 


240 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“then why is n’t it right after all for me to 
have it? For you see I do not mean to 
give it to any person, but to a skunk and — 
a skunk is not a person ! ” 

“I should say not!” agreed Long-neck, 
excitedly. * ‘ What you say is true. A skunk 
is a skunk, twenty times out of ten. Your 
logic is very good. I will give you The 
Cabbage, and you may take it now. I, 
meanwhile, will wait here, until you bring 
me the darling walking-boots.” 

So stepping softly on his tender feet, the 
Guarder reached the fourth row, and stoop- 
ing stiffly, picked the sixth cabbage, The 
Cabbage, and gave it to Albert ! He, after 
promising to come back as quickly as he 
could, hurried down to the Skunk. 

“I have The Cabbage!” he cried. 

“You don’t say so ! ” shouted the Skunk, 
seizing it. This time, he was so pleased, 
that he actually jumped for joy. “Here, 


THE WALKING BOY 


241 


take your old collar,” he continued; “for 
what is a collar compared to a Cabbage, 
a Skunk Cabbage, The Skunk Cabbage, in 
fact?” 

With fingers that trembled, Albert un- 
fastened the collar, and with a quick 
good-bye, hurried on, till he reached the 
Croco-Snake. 

“I have it! Here’s the collar!” he 
cried. 

“You don’t say so,” said the Croco- 
Snake, evidently much pleased. “Clasp it 
about my pretty neck.” And when this 
had been done, “Isn’t it a sweet match for 
my eyes?” he asked, adding, “now Boy, 
I’ll keep my word. You shall have the 
very next drop of the essence of esnesnon. 
I expect it to pop out, in three minutes.” 

Albert held the empty pill-bottle under 
the opening in the rock, and waited in 
breathless suspense. 


242 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“ Glug-Glug /” came soon from the hole, 
and out gushed the fresh pink liquid, drop- 
ping safely into the small bottle ! Down 
the hill the boy flew, shouting a good-bye 
over his shoulder to the Croco-Snake, who 
made no answer, being busily engaged in 
twisting himself inside out, in frantic efforts 
to see his fine new collar. 

The little hut was soon reached. 

“Dorothy, Dorothy!” cried Albert, and 
the child came to the door. “I have the 
essence, the wonderful essence of esnesnon.” 

“Oh, dear, you don’t say so!” said she, 
and burst into joyful tears. “ Come in,” she 
continued, “and we will at once put some 
of it into poor dear papa’s mouth. Oh, 
won’t it be lovely to have a father again?” 

Going to Mr. Scrugg’s side, Albert, his 
hand shaking with excitement, poured the 
essence carefully into the old man’s mouth, 
which Dorothy had deftly pried open with 


THE WALKING BOY 


243 


a clothes-pin. In breathless anxiety, the 
two children awaited the result. It came 
immediately. 

First, in the old man’s tangled hair and 
long curly beard a little quivering motion 
could be seen, slow at first, becoming faster 
and faster; then swiftly, and with wonder- 
ful skill his hair began to untwine and 
disentangle itself from the rug! Next a 
little convulsive shiver passed through his 
body, his head moved slowly from side to 
side and both hands were raised high in the 
air, then with a long-drawn quivering sigh 
the old man sat up, opened his eyes 
sleepily, and gazed in astonishment, at the 
two children ! 

“Bless me,” said heat last, in a hoarse, 
dry voice, “I think I must have dropped 
asleep for a moment, children,” and he rose 
stiffly, and stood totteringly on his feet. 
Then, catching sight of his long white 


244 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


beard, he became frightened, and at once 
sat down again ! Dorothy rushed into his 
arms, and kissing him tenderly, told him 
the story. Mr. Scrugg, of course, was 
deeply grateful to Albert, and was delighted 
to lend him the rug. The boy rolled it up 
at once, tucked it under his arm, (being 
careful not to look at it) and bidding the 
two a quick good-bye, scampered down the 
path, soon reaching Joe, who was stagger- 
ing weakly along, his strength evidently 
almost gone. 

“Have you the rug?” he cried. 

“Yes, here it is, at last!” and the two 
boys shouted for joy. 

“Well,” said Joe in a moment, “now 
we will find out what the famous fainting-rug 
can do for me. If it does the thing we 
expect it to, the Long-neck Boy shall have 
my boots. I will present them to him — 
from the very bottom of my sole! Now, 


THE WALKING BOY 


2 45 

Albert, spread the rug there in my path, 
where I can get a fine clear view of it. 
You had better shut your own eyes, for it 
would be a disastrous thing, if we both 
fainted at the same time.” 

Albert obeyed, and spread the rug on 
the ground about six feet ahead of Joe, 
where the light would fall full upon it. On 
came the boy, walking a bit unsteadily from 
excitement. His eyes were firmly fixed 
upon the ugly rug. Suddenly his face grew 
white — he stopped short — swayed from side 
to side, and then with a little cry he fell 
fainting to the ground ! The magic rug 
had done its work — it had lost none of its 
power, during its long rest ! 

Albert wasted no time in doing his part, 
but quickly unlaced the treacherous boots. 
Off they came at last, and in a moment, Joe 
regained his senses. When he found that 
the boots had been taken from his feet, he 


246 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

actually shed tears of joy. The dreadful 
walking-boots were then hung about 
Albert’s neck, and securely tied together by 
their lacings. They both stuck their tongues 
out in a very rude way, but they could not 
get away or help themselves. 

“And now,” said Joe, at last, as 
he wiped his eyes, “the fainting-rug 
must be returned. I will take it back my- 
self.” 

“All right,” agreed Albert, “and I prom- 
ised to bring the boots to the Cabbage-Boy.” 

The two walked together as far as 
the Scrugg cottage, and from there Al- 
bert went on alone, happy in the thought 
that he had been able to help so many 
people. 

When he reached the Cabbage-field, he 
found the Long-necked Boy lying at full 
length on the ground. “I have been rest- 
ing,” said he, “I am so glad to be off that 


THE WALKING BOY 


247 

stool. When you have sat on one for a 
few years, you will understand yourself, 
what I mean. And Albert, it is also a tre- 
mendous relief to me, not to be obliged to 
keep my poor head constantly turning, first 
this way and then that, you know, while 
searching for cabbage-stealers.” 

Albert nodded sympathetically 
“Now, let me have the boots, for I long 
to start on my happy walk,” and the Cab- 
bage-Boy held out his hand. 

Albert gave them to him, warning him 
once more, as to the danger. But the 
other boy only smiled and first shaking 
Albert’s hand in a cordial good-bye, quickly 
put on the boots, which fortunately fitted 
him perfectly. Then he stood upon his 
feet, the boots gave one vicious protesting 
kick, and at once began to walk , taking 
their new master out of sight, in a mere 
twinkling ! 


248 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

Albert stood for a moment, staring after 
him, then said, slowly, “Well! well! well! 
They certainly made no mistake when they 
called this hill “Mount Mystery.” 


“CHINNY” 


Papa had promised to take Haven to 
the circus the next afternoon. The boy 
had gone to bed and was soon fast asleep 
dreaming of lions and things ; of elephants 
larger and grayer than those one sees in 
the day-time, and of extremely strip-ed 
tigers and roaring lions (the kind that 
never stop roaring for an instant, you 
know). 

While he slept, a messenger-boy walked 
v-e-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y up the avenue, to the 
door, and rang the bell. This boy wore a 
coat, in the coat was a pocket, and in the 
pocket lay a telegram, which said : 

“Come to New York at once.” 

Now, when telegrams say that sort of 

249 


2 5 o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

thing, the people to whom they are sent, 
obey instantly; so the poor father packed 
his bag in a hurry, ran to the station, and 
was whisked off by the midnight train to 
New York. As the train puffed and cin- 
dered itself along, he said, “Poor Haven 
will have no circus to-morrow. I am sorry 
for him.” 

Of course, when the little boy awoke to 
this disappointment, things did indeed look 
black, but that was no excuse for the dis- 
graceful conduct which followed. All 
through the morning he was extremely 
naughty. He threw Molly’s best doll into 
the well, almost drowning the lovely little 
lady ; he pulled baby Harriet’s hair and he 
did many other wrong things ! At last his 
mother sent him out of the house in dis- 
grace. The little boy walked slowly down 
to the beach and seated himself sullenly 
on the sand. His angry eyes looked out 


“CHINNY 


251 

over the calm blue waters, and followed a 
long gray smudge which a passing ocean- 
steamer had carelessly left behind. 

“I wish I were on that boat,” he mut- 
tered, “going off somewhere, away from 
them all.” 

“Then come with me,” said a soft little 
voice at his elbow. 

Haven looked about, but saw no one. 

“Won’t you come with me?” continued 
the muffled voice, rather wistfully now. 

Haven looked again. Some one had 
certainly spoken, but — there was no one in 
sight ! 

“Well,” said the voice again, “have you 
made up your mind, Boy, and will you 
come?” 

Haven (now really troubled) looked 
down at the sand, for it was from there that 
the wee voice seemed to come. Nothing 
was to be seen, however, but a land-crab 


252 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

(hurrying off to meet a friend) and a fat, 
spiky sea-urchin. The latter Haven absent- 
mindedly picked up. 

“ Thank you for lifting me,” said the 
voice, and, in amazement, the boy instantly 
dropped the small creature, for, can you 
believe me, when I tell you that the voice 
came from it; that it was the sea-urchin 
himself who had spoken? 

“Oh,” cried the little fellow sharply, 
“you ought to know better than to drop me 
like that; my delicate house might have 
broken ! ” 

“Why, wh-wh- who are you?” stam- 
mered Haven at last, picking up the shell 
gently. 

“I am an urchin,” was the calm answer. 
“The only difference between you and me, 
is that I ’m a sea-urchin, while you ’re a 
land-urchin. Turn me over.” 

This Haven did, and there, to his amaze- 


“CHINNY 


253 


ment, he saw a wee boy about three inches 
high ! 

“Are you a fairy?” he asked. 

“Certainly not. Look at me, and you’ll 
see that I am not.” 

This Haven did. “What’s your name?” 
he enquired, “Mine’s Haven.” 

“I have no particular name,” said the 
urchin, somewhat sadly. “You may call me 
anything you like, however; that is, any- 
thing that would not be painful to me.” 

“Well,” said Haven thoughtfully, “Sea- 
urchin is too long a name. ‘ Urchie ’ might 
do, or ‘Chinny.’ How’s that? I’ll call 
you ‘Chinny’ — if you think you’d like it?” 

“Sure,” was the answer. 

“It is too bad that you are so small, 
Chinny. I like you very much, you know, 
but you certainly are a little — I mean, you 
seem to me to be just a little ” 

“That’s it,” interrupted the urchin. “I 


254 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

am not small — in fact I am just the right 
size, but to you I seem to be small, because 
you don’t see me as I really am. I will 
make that all right. Wait!” 

Off ran the little creature, his wee legs 
fairly twinkling. In a short time he re- 
appeared, with his arms full of a strange kind 
of seaweed. It was transparent, and of a 
bright blue color. 

“That is awfully pretty,” said Haven; “I 
never saw anything like it. What kind is 
it?” 

“The kind I was after,” said Chinny 
shortly. “Eat it.” 

“Oh — I’m afraid to.” 

“It’s all right,” said the urchin reassur- 
ingly, as he nibbled a bit, himself. 

Convinced then, and a little ashamed of 
his hesitation, Haven took the seaweed, and 
began to eat it. ’T was not a hard thing 
to do, either, for it tasted liked fricasseed 


CHINNY 


255 


peanuts. He quickly disposed of the 
whole bunch. 

“ Now, sit down,” directed the urchin. 
“Take long breaths, shut your eyes and 
don’t open them till I speak.” 

Haven obeyed, and in about three min- 
utes felt a light touch on his arm. He 
opened his eyes and started back in amaze- 
ment, for (although he had heard no foot- 
steps) there, close by his side, sat a boy, — 
a jolly-looking boy, somewhat older than 
he, whose dark eyes, sparkling with mis- 
chief, were fixed full upon him. 

“ I ’m Chinny,” he said with a grin. 
“Am I big enough, now?” 

“B-b-but,” stammered Haven, “what’s 
happened to you ? You certainly do look 
like Chinny ; but, — how could you grow up, 
so quickly?” 

“Oh, that is all in the way one sees 
things,” explained Chinny smiling. “You 


256 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

didn’t see me as I really was, you know, so 
I gave you some real seaweed, and now of 
course you see the true me. ’T is very 
simple.” 

“But that ‘see’ is not spelled the same 
way,” objected Haven. 

“ Oh, you may spell it any way you like,” 
answered Chinny. “ If it only does its work 
well, it makes not the slightest difference 
how one spells it.” 

“But — will common seaweed do this 
sort of thing?” enquired Haven, after hesi- 
tating for a moment. “This is the first time 
I ever ate any, you know.” 

“Let it be the last,” warned Chinny 
solemnly, “for the common seaweed is as 
different from what I gave you as six and 
two are nine.” 

“Six and two — nine?” 

“Don’t repeat what I say Haven. It’s 
rude.” 


“CHINNY 


257 


“But, Chinny, it isn’t true,” objected 
Haven. 

“Then you certainly shouldn’t repeat 
what you know to be untrue,” and the 
sea-urchin smiled triumphantly. “ But 
let me explain something : What you 
ate, Haven, was the genuine seaweed ; 
and it takes an absolutely genuine sea- 
urchin of the sea, to see such seaweed! 
See?” 

“I — see,” said Haven doubtfully. 

“I ’ll sing you a song about that.” 

“Oh, can you sing, Chinny?” 

“No, I can’t, but I can sing about it. 
Listen : — 

4 When you see seaweed, 

Run away quick ! 

If a boy eats it 
He will be sick !’ 

“I made up that song myself— just now! 
Is n’t it beautiful?” 


58 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“No, Chinny/’ said truthful Haven; “I 
don’t think it is beautiful.” 

“You don’t? Well here is another, 
with new words. Do you like this any 
better? It makes no difference to me. I ’d 
just as soon sing one as the other. 

‘ If you eat seaweed 
You will be ill. 

Then your dear mother 
Will give you a pill.’ 

“That ’s a pretty thing, is n’t it? Really 
a lovely bit?” and here the urchin looked 
anxiously at Haven. 

“Why no, Chinny, I don’t like that 
either.” 

“Don’t you, Haven? Let me try again, 
then. How’s this?” and once more the 
sea-urchin began loudly : 

“If one eats seaweed 
He will have nausea — ” 

“But, Chinny,” interrupted Haven im- 


“CHINNY 


2 59 


patiently, “I am not going to eat it again.” 

“Oh,” said the urchin, crestfallen; “if 
that is so, then I suppose I can not sing 
about it either. But now, Haven, are you 
coming home with me?” 

“I’d like to, Chinny. Where is your 
home?” 

The urchin screwed up his round pink 
face, until his eyes looked like two black 
slits. 

“My home is on an island, many miles, 
and more, from here,” and he pointed 
vaguely toward the blue sea. 

“I ’d like to go there some day, Chinny, 
but it is too late now — it is almost twelve 
o’clock, and we have luncheon at one.” 

The sea-urchin glanced shrewdly at his 
companion, then moving nearer, he whis- 
pered : “ Haven, were you naughty, and 
did they send you out of the house this 
morning?” 


2 6o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“Yes,” confessed the little boy, hanging 
his head. 

Chinny chuckled. “I’ll tell you some- 
thing. I was naughty too, and they sent 
me away from home. This was several 
weeks ago, however ; I am very sorry now, 
and I am going back again.” 

“ Why did they send you away, Chinny ?” 
asked Haven, sympathetically. 

“Because I was saucy and talked too 
much. And then I made poems — poems 
and puns.” Here the sea-urchin wiped 
his eyes with his torn coat-sleeve. 

“But, were they bad poems — the poems 
you made?” 

“ Very bad, all of them, and the puns 
were poxious.” 

“ ‘ Poxious? ” enquired Haven, “what are 
‘poxious’ puns?” 

“They are the kind I always make,” 
answered the urchin. 


CHINNY 


261 


“’T is a very strange word,” ventured 
Haven. 

“Not nearly as strange as the puns 
themselves are. But come on.” 

“Really, I cannot go with you, Chinny, 
without mamma’s permission,” objected Ha- 
ven, “and there isn’t enough time, any- 
way.” 

“That is so, we are short of time. But 
that need not trouble us, for what is sim- 
pler than to borrow some?” 

Haven laughed. “It may be simple,” 
he said, “but where, and how?” 

Chinny smiled, and taking his friend’s 
reluctant hand, led him a short distance 
down the beach, to a big boulder, which 
in the neighborhood was called the Gray 
Friar. The sea-urchin walked boldly to it 
and knocked, while his companion laughed 
outright at his bewildered look, as nothing 
came of it. Then Chinny’s face lighted. 


262 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Great Starfish! I made a mistake. It is 
on the south,” he exclaimed, and hurried 
to the other side of the boulder. There 
he again knocked, and pressing his dark 
curly head against the gray side, awaited 
breathlessly an answer. And then it was 
Haven’s turn to be surprised, for, coming 
from the rock itself, he distinctly heard a 
faint, long “ Hallooooo /” 

Haven had a momentary wish to escape 
— to run away. But he was ashamed to, 
and besides he really felt great curiosity as 
to what would happen next. What did 
happen was this : the side of the rock near- 
est the boys, began to soften gradually, its 
outlines became uncertain and wavering, 
while everything looked foggy and vague. 

“Come on,” shouted Chinny. 

And Haven grasping his hand tightly, 
walked straight into the boulder ! After a 
few groping steps, the boys saw before 


“CHINNY” 263 

them a dim, uncertain light, which they 
followed. 

“We shall soon see him,” whispered 
the sea-urchin. 

“See whom? ” 

Chinny made no answer, but hurried 
on. A few more steps, and the boys found 
themselves in a large hall dimly lighted by 
lamps, which hung from the arched ceiling. 

“There he is ! ” cried Chinny, pointing to 
a moving object before them. At first, 
Haven could not make out what it was, and 
then, as his eyes became accustomed to the 
dim light, he found that he was looking at 
the flying figure of a very old man, who 
was racing madly round, and round, and 
round the hall ! His loose draperies and 
long white hair were floating wildly on the 
breeze, he looked neither to the right nor 
left, and never stopped, never paused for an 
instant. 


264 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Wh-who is it? What is it?” gasped 
Haven. 

“ Don’t you recognize him ? It is Father 
Time ! ” 

“What is he doing?” 

“Flying. ‘Time flies,’ you know.” 

“I have heard that,” said Haven, “but 
I never saw Father Time himself, before. I 
have seen pictures of him, however, and he 
looks like his picture, doesn’t he? There 
are his sickle and hour-glass and all his 
things I I am glad I came, Chinny, — it is 
awfully interesting ! ” 

“ Now, see me stop him,” whispered the 
urchin at this point. 

Running to the middle of the hall, he 
stood for a moment, erect and fearless, 
looking unabashed, into the piercing eyes 
of Father Time, who — still flying wildly 
about the hall, gazed reproachfully at the 
rash boy who had dared to enter his do- 


CHINNY 


265 


main. Haven was much frightened, and 
shook in his shoes, but Chinny, quite un- 
moved, raised his voice and called shrilly : 
“ Stop, Father Time ! Wait, wait a moment ! ” 

“Time waits for no man ! ” came the an- 
swer, in a deep hoarse voice. 

“ But we are not men, Father Time. We 
are boys!" shouted Chinny. 

This remark evidently made a great im- 
pression on the old gentleman. “That is 
true,” he said musingly, “you are boys, 
only boys, poor things ! That being the 
case, I will stop — for a moment.” Gather- 
ing his floating draperies about him, and 
flying more and more slowly, the wonder- 
ful old man stood at last, quietly before 
them. Chinny meanwhile, had returned 
to Haven’s side. 

Father Time, tapping his sickle impa- 
tiently, looked sternly at the two, and 
asked them what they wanted. 


266 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“We wish to borrow some time, Sir,” 
said Chinny very politely. 

“ None to lend ! Not a minute to spare ! ” 



was the answer, crossly given, and Father 
Time shook his head emphatically, his 
white hair flying in all directions. One 
long silky curl hung straight down, over 
his wrinkled forehead. 


CHINNY 


267 


Chinny’s bright eye saw this, and giving 
one quick jump, he seized that curly lock 
firmly with both hands ! 

“Here, here! hands off! Let go my 
forelock,” screamed Father Time, angrily; 
“my only and my beautiful cherished 
forelock.” 

“No, no,” cried the sea-urchin, triumph- 
antly. “Now I have you in my power, 
old gentleman ! This is luck indeed. 
Haven, you know the old saying, ‘Take 
Time by the forelock!’ Well, if you suc- 
ceed in doing so, he must grant whatever 
favor you ask.” 

“ I have heard the saying,” said Haven; 
“but I never knew before, what it meant.” 

Fortunately Chinny did know, and so 
did poor Father Time, whose manner had 
now changed entirely. From a proud, self- 
reliant old man he had suddenly become 
hu mbl e — crushed. 


268 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“What is it you want, Boy?” he asked, 
with much meekness. 

“Three days,” said Chinny, firmly. 

“Borrowed?” 

“No, you must give them to me.” 

“Outright?” 

“Outright.” 

Father Time groaned. “And must the 
nights go with them?” he asked sadly. 

“Certainly, there must be the full twenty- 
four hours in each.” 

“You shall have them. I must obey, 
you know,” moaned Father Time, despair- 
ingly; “and when I have done so, will you 
take away your hands from my cherished 
forelock?” 

“ I will, I promise. But, Father, we must 
have good time.” 

“I keep only the best,” replied the old 
man, with returning spirit. “ I know the im- 
portance of keeping perfect time.” 


CHINNY 


269 


“The gift was then presented, and Chinny 
released Father Time who, with a wild cry, 
began again his mad flight about the hall. 
Quickly the two excited boys made their 
escape through the dim passage, and out 
from the boulder, which, closing behind 
them, became once more a hard gray rock. 

On the beach outside, Haven asked to 
see the time. 

“Time can’t be seen,” said the sea-urchin 
contemptuously, “don’t you know that?” 

“ I suppose I do, but I have seen so 
many things this morning that can’t be 
seen, that I thought ” 

“Now see here, boy, you mustn’t think,” 
interrupted Chinny, impatiently, “for I am 
thinking myself now. If you do it too, of 
course it will take twice as much time, and 
I assure you we have none to waste. We 
must think as little as possible, anyway, and 
never at the same moment. Remember I ” 


270 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

Haven did n’t understand this, but it 
sounded so reasonable, that he promised to 
be very careful. “ Now, I will run up and ask 
mamma if I may go with you,” he added. 

“There is n’t time for that, either,” said 
Chinny impatiently. “But it is all right, 
Haven. Let me explain. You see what 
the old man gave us, is extra time , and is 
wedged in between now and your lunch- 
time. It is our time — yours and mine. 
No one else has anything to do with it — 
no one knows of it, so we can do what we 
like in it. We are not going to do any- 
thing wrong, however; nothing your mother 
wouldn’t like, you know.” 

“And shall I be at home for luncheon?” 
asked Haven, hesitatingly, for he wanted 
very much to go. 

“Certainly, I promise that as the clock 
strikes ‘ One,' you will be entering your 
house-door.” 


“CHINNY 


271 


Then at last, all the circumstances being 
so very unusual, Haven consented to go 
with his new friend ! 

“The tide is just right,” cried the urchin 
merrily. 

“So it is; but, oh Chinny, there is one 
important thing we have forgotten, and 
that is — a boat for our journey.” 

“I haven’t forgotten. You’ll see,” and 
taking his companion’s hand, the boy said 
earnestly: “Haven, have you any imagin- 
ation?” 

“Yes, mamma says I have a very strong 
imagination, but ” 

“That is good. For — although we are 
going to my beautiful home in a boat, ’t is 
not in a real, but in a make-believe one.” 

“A make-believe boat, Chinny,” gasped 
poor Haven. “Oh, I don’t want to go in 
one of those, at all ! I am sure I should n’t 
like it.” 


272 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Ever been in one?” 

“No,” confessed Haven, “I haven’t.” 

“Then you know nothing at all about 
them. Now I have been in them often 
and they are fine. In the first place, you 
can’t be seasick you know; there are no 
oily smells; no ‘chunk-i-ty chunking’ of 
machinery, no fear of accidents, and — the 
trip costs nothing. In fact, there are many 
advantages in the F. S. S. Company.” 

“What does ‘F. S. S.’ mean?” 

“Fake Steam Ship Company.” 

“Why ‘fake’?” 

“Why not?" asked Chinny sharply. 
“But, as I was saying, Haven, I am glad 
that you have imagination, for with it one 
can go anywhere. You will have a much 
drier and more comfortable trip. If you 
hadn’t had any, I should have taken you, of 
course, but in that case, I should have been 
obliged to drag you through the water, and 


“CHINNY 


2 73 

you ’d have been awfully wet, wetter than 
the letter T, my boy ! ” 

“I shouldn’t have liked that, at all. But 
Chinny, what do you mean by being ‘ wetter 
thanT’? The letter T isn’t any wetter 
than any other letter,” and Haven laughed. 

“Oh, is n’t it?” said Chinny sarcastically, 
“isn’t it always in water?” 

“Yes, but, ” 

“Would water be the wet thing it is, if 
you took away the letter T ? ” T-less water 
could never quench thirst nor bear ships. 
It would simply dry up, and crumble away.” 

“ But Chinny, I don’t think that it can be 
the T that makes it wet.” 

“Don’t you? Then I ’ll prove it to you. 
Take, for instance the word ‘wet’ itself. It 
has one T, in it, hasn’t it? That’s what 
makes it wet. Take away this T and what 
have you then ? You have ‘ we ’ and we are 
not wet, now are we? I ask you that,” 


274 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


said Chinny triumphantly. “And then,” 
he went on “all you have to do is to add 
the T, and it instantly becomes ‘wet’ again.” 

Haven, bewildered, did not dispute this. 

“After all, ’tisvery simple,” continued the 
urchin. “We have proved that there is 
one moist T in wet. Now, how many are 
there, in wetter? Two. Consequently, 
wetter is two times wetter than wet I 
Then finally, in the word ‘wettest’ one finds 
three Ts, doesn’t he? This proves of 
course, without doubt, that wettest is wet- 
ter than wet, wetter than wetter — wettest of 
all ! ” 

Haven was now completely bewildered, 
and quite convinced that whatever Chinny 
said must be true, no matter how strangely 
it sounded. 

The sea-urchin smiled triumphantly. 
“Now,” he continued in a moment, “let 
us attend to business. Come with me to 


“CHINNY 


275 


the sand-ridge, and we will search the 
waters for a boat.” 

Hand in hand, the two boys stood gazing. 

“Now, Haven, try hard. Use all your 
imagination. I will do the same, and 
pretty soon a boat will come to us.” 

Silently, with staring eyes and quickly 
beating hearts, the two gazed out and away. 
Before long, Chinny gave a cry. “There, 
it comes. I see a faint gray dot. Look! 
Look !” 

Haven was white from excitement. At 
first he could see nothing, but he kept on 
looking intently in the direction in which 
the sea-urchin pointed. Then, thinking 
bard, putting his whole mind to it, he too, 
imagined he could “see.” At first ’twas 
but a gray formless something, which was 
gliding swiftly, silently toward them, then 


“ I see, Chinny ! Oh, I really see it, now ! ” 


276 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

he shouted, and as the shape of the little 
phantom ship became more surely defined 
to the eye, both the boys jumped up and 
down in wild excitement. 

“I see the sails now,” cried Chinny. 

“So do I, — what a big mainsail she has, 
has n’t she?” 

In a few moments more the boat was 
near, and at last, gliding noiselessly up to 
the very beach itself, lay quitely at rest be- 
fore them ! 

“Oh, she has grounded!” cried Haven, 
in great distress. 

“ That is impossible, for no ship belong- 
ing to the F. S. S. Line ever grounds,” 
said the sea-urchin calmly. “ ’T is a fine 
safe line. Come aboard.” 

“How can we get aboard? I see no 
ladders nor ” 

“Why it ’s as easy as four are nine. 
Look at me!” and sure enough, the little 


“CHINNY 


2 77 


fellow clambered up the steep side of the 
ship, with no difficulty, shouting to Haven 
to follow, which he did. To his surprise, it 
proved after all, not a difficult matter, as at 
each step, his feet and clutching hands sank 
deep into the ship’s soft gray sides. 

In a twinkling, the two boys were aboard 
and walking about the deck, which had a 
most attractive fluffy feeling to the foot. 
There was apparently no one on board, no 
captain, sailors, nor officers. 

“Where are the crew?” asked Haven. 

“We are the crew.” 

“Then how does the boat sail?” 

“She trims her own sails, but we must 
help fill them, if the wind fails. Our will 
(which summoned her) steers the ship. 
Shall we start now? Are you ready?” 

Haven gave one last look at his father’s 
house (which had a strange far-away look), 
and nodded his head. 


278 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


The boat remained as before, the sails 
flap-flapping idly in the faint breeze. “Oh,” 
said Chinny, “I forgot. The wind in here 
in the bay is not strong enough. We 
must now do our part and help fill the 
sails. Sing/” 

“Sing?” repeated Haven in astonish- 
ment. “Sing what?” 

“Oh, whatever you like.” 

Haven bewildered but obedient, opened 
his mouth and sang “Yankee Doodle!” 

No sooner did the voice ring out than 
the sails slowly filled with the patriotic air, 
and the mysterious boat glided on her 
journey. 

“We shall have to sing these light airs 
during the day probably, unless the breeze 
stiffens,” said Chinny, “but as neither you 
nor I have any voice for singing, a little 
ought to go a long way, ought n’t it?” 

“I never knew before,” said Haven, 


“CHINNY 


279 

“ that you could make a boat go by merely 
singing a song.” 

“Didn’t you? Well, boats aren’t the 
only things that go for a mere song.” 

“ So that ’s what that phrase means, 
Chinny? I did n’t know that, either. How 
much I am learning to-day, and many 
things that are not generally known, I am 
sure.” 

“So am I,” said the urchin, a mischievous 
twinkle in his eye. 

The two boys settled themselves comfort- 
ably for the journey. They both lay at 
full length on the soft gray deck, and gazed 
up into the cloudless blue sky above. Ab- 
solute stillness was about them, and the 
boat glided swiftly along over the smooth sea. 

“This is too fine for anything,” said 
Haven, at last. “ Chinny, you ’re a trump.” 

The sea-urchin looked at his companion 
affectionately, and smiled. Then he smiled 


280 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


again. “I always smile twice, when I am 
extra-pleased,” he said. “ I like you too, 
little friend, in fact I would rather be with 
you, than not to be with any other boy! 
That sounds like flattery I know, but really 
Haven, you are equal to no one else!" 

A breeze had now sprung up and the 
sails, as the sea-urchin had foretold, trimmed 
themselves cleverly, while the boat fairly 
flew through the water. 

“Dear me!” cried Haven in sudden 
alarm; “I didn’t notice it before, Chinny, 
but when I look down, it seems as if I 
could see the horrid black water, right 
through the boat; it is awful!” 

“Now, Haven,” ordered Chinny sharply, 
“if you look down, the first thing you 
know, down you’ll go yourself ‘kerchunk’ 
right through the boat into the water! 
Look up at the blue sky and bright sun 
overhead. As long as you keep looking 


CHINNY 


281 


up, you 're all right, and by the way, that is 
a good rule to follow at all times, and 
wherever you are.” 

Haven obeyed and found, sure enough, 
that when he kept to these simple directions 
all fear left him. 

“How long will the journey last?” he 
enquired. 

“We shall get there to-morrow.” 

For a short time the two boys chatted 
together, and then darkness seemed to 
come quickly. One by one, the bright 
stars peeped out, and they slept. 

To Haven the sleep was a somewhat 
troubled one, and when he heard Chinny 
say “Get up!” he answered sleepily, “In 
a minute.” 

“No, not in a minute. No time to 
waste, remember. Get up!” and Chinny’s 
voice was stern. “The day has come. 
We are almost in sight of land.” 


282 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


At these exciting words, Haven sprang 
to his feet, and sure enough, there before 
them in the distance, he saw the entranc- 
ingly beautiful home of his friend the sea- 
urchin. Another half hour brought them 
very near, so near that the perfume of 
flowers was plainly borne to them, on the 
soft breeze. The island, which was long 
and low, was densely shaded by giant 
trees, whose delicate tracery lay clear cut 
against the intensely blue sky beyond. A 
softly curving beach, its white sand glisten- 
ing like silver in the bright sun, stretched 
protecting arms toward them on either side, 
making a natural harbor. 

In a moment, their ship grated gently 
upon the beach, and the two slipped quickly 
over her side, gripping velvety uncertain 
ropes and clutching at elusive gray pro- 
jections. One or two smiling people came 
hurrying down, and gave them welcome. 


CHINNY 


283 


Then an older man and woman, Chinny’s 
parents, came toward their little son and 
embraced him affectionately. Next they 
all turned their backs and knocked their 
heads together! To Haven this seemed a 
funny way of kissing, for that, he found, 
was what they were doing; but when he 
spoke of this later, the sea-urchin asked 
why it was any funnier than to do as we 
do. 

Chinny told his father about Haven and 
asked permission to show him the island. 
“Do so,” said the old gentleman kindly, 
“ then come back to our house to luncheon. 
Show the little stranger every other thing — 
as well as every thing.” 

The boys left alone, climbed up the steep 
winding path, which led to the settlement 
above. “Now, Haven — smile!" said 
Chinny. 

“Why?” 


284 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Because it is the custom of my country 
— we all smile.” 

“Always ?” 

“Always,” and the sea-urchin’s mouth 
widened into a broad grin. 

Haven did the same, and soon found 
that it was really as Chinny had said, for 
everyone whom they met was smiling, and 
as friends passed each other, the smile 
broadened. The effect of all this was very 
gay and pleasing. 

At last, the two boys reached the top of 
the path, and there before Haven’s mar- 
velling eyes lay spread the most beautiful 
country he had ever seen 1 The many 
beautiful giant maiden-hair-fern trees gave 
grateful shade, and winding grassy lanes led 
in different directions. On either side were 
rows of small thatched cottages, all exactly 
alike, and each surrounded by flowers. 
Haven had never seen anything like it, and 


“CHINNY 


285 

he was wild with delight. He soon noticed 
that every cottage had taken some one 
flower, completely filling his garden with 
that, and only that. The effect was very 
lovely. One had violets, another pink roses, 
another lilies of the valley, and so on. The 
boys walked on, passing house after house. 
Some of the people were busy in their gar- 
dens, picking flowers, weeding, hoeing, and 
so forth. 

After having seen the little settlement, the 
sea-urchin took his guest to a rustic summer- 
house on a grassy knoll, where they sat down 
and admired the ocean view before them. 

Then Haven asked Chinny, why the 
people dressed as they did. “Each one 
wears one color only. The lady we just 
met, had a blue gown, blue hat, and even 
blue shoes and stockings, I noticed. And 
those two people over there, are dressed 
entirely in pink.” 


286 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


“ I ’ll tell you why they do that,” explained 
Chinny. “’Tis a beautiful idea, too. You 
see, each family chooses some flower for its 
garden, and then they all dress in that color. 
Usually the houses themselves are fitted out 
in the same tint. And there are a few of our 
people (not many, I ’m glad to say) who eat 
food of the same color, too!” 

“W-why,” gasped Haven; “How can 
they possibly do that?” 

“ Oh, they are not obliged to, you under- 
stand,” explained Chinny; “but of course, 
it can be done if people care to. For in- 
stance, there are two sisters here, whose 
houses are side by side. One has chosen 
the butter-cup for her flower ; the other, the 
white daisy. The first one’s color is of 
course, yellow, so her house is yellow, she 
dresses in yellow, and she eats only yellow 
things I Oranges, lemons, yellow bananas, 
squash, and pumpkin pie, butter corn-cake, 


“CHINNY 


287 


and the yolks of eggs. This happens to be 
quite a convenient arrangement, too, for the 
whites of eggs are eaten by the sister who 
lives next door. Her flower is the daisy, 
you see, and she eats therefore, white things. 
Milk, cream, white-fish, cheese, bread, 
crackers, vanilla ice-cream, etc. Oh, those 
two sisters manage to live very prettily. 
But there is an old bachelor here, whose 
house is furnished in blue, for he has chosen 
for his flower, the bachelor’s button. He 
dresses in blue, of course, and he eats only 
blue things! Now, there are scarcely any 
blue things that can be eaten, you know, 
Haven, so he eates blueberries, poor man.” 

“What, nothing but blueberries?” 
gasped Haven. 

“ Nothing. Blueberries raw, steamed, and 
stewed. Blueberry pie and blueberry cake. 
I declare, it makes me feel blue, just to 
think of it! ” 


288 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

Haven laughed. But the sea-urchin grew 
pale, and looked about anxiously. “Oh 
dear, I am sorry I made that pun,” said he. 
“It was a particularly poxious one, too. 
Please forget it.” 

“ I will, Chinny. Tell me something about 
this island.” 

“ Well, several hundred years ago,” began 
the urchin, “a small party of people came 
here on the good ship Cheese-It , and 
those whose ancestors came over on that 
ship, are proud of that fact. As all our 
ancestors came in it, we are a proud people 
— very proud. Trees were planted, lanes 
laid out, and cottages built. Each cottage 
was numbered 2, 4, 6, 8, and so on. We used 
only the even numbers, you notice, for we 
feared that it might look odd, if we did n’t. 
The idea has been, to make this a country 
where everyone would be perfectly happy 
and contented. We try to be kind to other 


“CHINNY 


289 


people, and to smile always. Consequently 
one never hears a cry here, nor is a harsh 
word ever spoken.” 

“ But, Chinny, there are babies here, and 
they always howl, I know”; and Haven 
smiled as he thought of his little sister 
Harriet’s lusty cry. 

“Yes, of course, the babies do cry, but 
no one hears them. On the way down I 
will show you what we do to them. You 
have n’t seen our interesting ‘cryery’ yet,” 
and Chinny laughed outright. “But, the 
little children are all very good. From the 
beginning, we train them to be kind and 
generous, you see. We make them play ball, 
puss-in-corner, and other generous games.” 

“Are they generous games?” 

“Of course they are, for in them, one 
keeps giving up, all the time,” explained 
Chinny. “What can be more generous than 
a game of ball, for instance? You toss the 

19 


2 9 o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

ball to another kid ; he does n’t keep it, but 
hurries to give it back to you. You return 
it at once, and so it goes, each giving to the 
other, and each becoming in consequence, 
more generous as the game proceeds. Puss- 
in-corner too, is a beautifully generous game, 
each person constantly insisting that some 
other fellow should take his corner — forcing 
it on him, you know. So too it is in tag, 
where one gives a tag to someone else, all 
the time.” 

“But don’t the fellows of our age forget 
and get mad sometimes ? ” enquired Haven. 

Chinny hesitated a very long time, before 
he answered this question, and then he said 
slowly: “No, Haven, they don’t, because, — 
well because — there aren't any fellows of 
our age on the island (and mighty few girls, 
either). 

“What!" cried Haven, “do they all die 
young?” 


CHINNY 


291 


“Oh, no I” laughed the urchin; “let me 
explain. From the beginning the grown-up 
people here obeyed its laws, while the babies 
and little children were easily controlled. 
But when the children reached the age of 
eight or nine, the parents found that they 
began to be troublesome. They were too 
big to be treated as the little ones were, and 
yet they were not old enough to act like 
sensible grown people. They distressed the 
whole town by rudeness and noise, and 
sometimes by quarrelling ! This made the 
fathers and mothers sad. The smiles left 
their faces, and anxious looks were to be 
seen everywhere. This would never do, so 
they had a meeting and in it decided what 
to do. It was this. All children, boys or 
girls (living on this island), who had reached 
the troublesome age, were to be sent away, 
gotten rid of — bounced! From that time 
on, this has been done. A spiky umbrella 


292 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

is put over them, they are forced to become 
sea-urchins, and are sent away, sailing to 
distant countries where they stay, some for 
long, some for longer, or even in extreme 
cases, for longest, as the case may or may 
not be. Then they return on a visit or on 
trial. At the first naughty act or word, 
however, bang! they are again sent away, 
this time in a different direction. There 
are a great many of us, Haven. Sea-urchins 
are to be found on every coast, and every 
one of them comes originally from this little 
island ! The law works well, for through it 
peace and happiness have now come to our 
island.” 

“What brought your ancestors here in 
the first place?” asked Haven. 

“The ship Cheese- It.” 

“But I mean, what did they come for?” 

“Forever /” answered the urchin sol- 
emnly. Then rising he suggested to his 


“CHINNY 


293 


companion that they had better return, and 
have a look at the “cryery” on the way. 
Down the hill, under the shade of the 
beautiful feathery trees went the two boys. 
Turning sharply to the left, they took a path 
which led away from the village. 

“This goes to the ‘cryery,’” explained 
Chinny; “but come back to the main road, 
for I want you to see everything in this de- 
partment, from the very beginning.” 

Reaching the road they met many brightly 
clad smiling young mothers, holding babies, 
leading babies, playing with babies ; while 
the babies themselves, clad each like its 
mother, were smiling, chuckling, and “goo- 
googling” just like other wee people all 
over the world ! “Are n’t they jolly little 
kids?” whispered Haven admiringly. 

“Yes, but wait ” ; and Chinny seated him- 
self on the mossy bank and motioned to 
Haven to do the same. 


294 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


Just then, a fat little pink tot with golden 
curls floating merrily behind, and chuckling 
at some secret joke, came toddling bravely 



The cart started on its way back to the “ cryery.” 
toward them. Suddenly, the baby feet 
stumbled and down she fell — a bad fall, too 1 
Before she could pick herself up, however, 
or even open her mouth to cry, her pink- 


CHINNY 


295 


clad mamma had given a loud shrill call 
with the silver whistle which hung from her 
neck, and a man came hurrying down the 
cryery path, wheeling a jangling cart, on 
which was a softly padded basket, hung on 
the springiest of springy springs. Into this, 
the pink cry-baby, now howling lustily, was 
quickly lifted. No sooner was she in, and 
the cart started on its way back to the “cry- 
ery,” than the little cradle began to sway up 
and down, back and forth, from side to side, 
setting in motion thousands of tiny musical 
silvery-toned bells, which rang, sang, chimed, 
and drowned the poor little, fat little, pink 
little girlie, into silence 1 “Come,” said 
Chinny, “we will follow”; and he and 
Haven hurried after. 

The “cryery” was a large tree-shaded 
fenced-in garden. Outside at intervals 
were stationed men, and each of them had 
a hand-organ on which he was turn-turning 


296 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

and grind-grinding awfully gay dances 
and merry jigs. 

The two boys entered. Haven quickly 
noticed that the trees here were willows, 
and different from the others on the island 
— no beautiful maiden hair-fern trees were 
to be seen. He mentioned this to Chinny, 
who laughed. “ These are weeping- willows. 
We considered them the only proper trees 
for the ‘cryery,’ ” he explained. 

There were not many babies in the gar- 
den, but Haven saw that each one there 
was tied loosely to a tree, its smiling 
mother standing near, waiting until the cry 
should be over. This never took very long, 
for the organs all played so very gaily, that 
it was hard to hear one’s self cry at all, and 
even a baby quickly makes up its mind that 
there is no fun in crying, if no one can hear 
or appreciate your work! So in a jiffy- 
and-a-half most of the babies began to smile. 


CHINNY 


297 


Haven and Chinny now hurried out, 
meeting on the way two new little baby- 
criers on the jangly bell carriage. 

The boys knew that they were crying, from 
their puckered-up faces, but the bells talked 
so loudly, that they could hear nothing. 
Haven made up his mind that as soon as 
he reached home, his baby sister Harriet 
should have one of those carriages ! They 
soon reached the sea-urchin’s home. About 
this cottage grew pale pink roses, and in- 
side, it was finished in delicate rose- 
pink. 

Chinny’s family welcomed them cordially, 
and they were about to sit down to luncheon, 
when the sea-urchin suddenly rose from the 
table, with a troubled look on his face, and 
calling his father aside, consulted for a mo- 
ment. Returning, he said: “Haven, I am 
awfully sorry, but you cannot take luncheon 
here, after all. We stayed too long in the 


298 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

‘cryery,’ I am afraid ; and it is now time for 
you to say good-bye and to go home!" 

Haven looked at his watch, but found 
that instead of ticking in its usual quiet way, 
the hands were chasing each other round 
and round the dial as if they had suddenly 
become crazy! They were making such 
quick time, that he could scarcely see them ! 

“Look, Chinny!” he cried; “isn’t that 
queer?” 

“’T is the extra time we forced on them, 
I suppose,” explained Chinny; “hands dis- 
like to be hurried, — or to work overtime, you 
know.” 

“ I am sorry you cannot stay for luncheon, 
Haven,” said the urchin’s mother, at the 
same time pressing a large piece of straw- 
berry shortcake into the boy’s willing 
hand. 

Haven now said good-bye to the family, 
and with the sea-urchin hurried back to the 


“CHINNY 


299 


beach, where the shadowy boat awaited 
them. In a moment the two were aboard. 
“ Chinny,” said Haven nervously, “ I 
wish you were going with me. I feel as 
if I could n’t manage this great boat 
alone.” 

“Of course you can,” said the urchin, 
reassuringly. “It will go as easy as two 
goes in one.” 

“ But they could n’t ! What strange things 
you do say, Chinny! How could they?” 
objected Haven irritably. “One can go in 
two, but never two in one.” 

“Wrong as usual,” observed the urchin, 
calmly, “two can go in one, and frequently 
do. For instance, did n’t we two boys go 
in one boat? And we weren’t even 
crowded, either! But it is what you say, 
Haven, that ‘one can go in two,’ which is 
really absurd. That is an impossibility. 
One boy could not go in two boats, now 


300 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


frankly, could he? That is, not at the same 
moment ! ” 

Haven was completely bewildered, and 
did n’t know what to say. 

“Now, little friend, you have just time 
enough,” proceeded the urchin, “to make 
the journey back, and to reach your own 
house at one o’clock, just as I promised you 
should do. This return journey will take 
less time than to come here.” 

“Why?” enquired Haven. 

Chinny gave him a pitying look, and said : 
“Because there were twice as many people 
then, as now, and of course it always takes 
two people twice as long to do a thing, as 
it does one ! Now good-bye, Haven, you ’re 
a pretty good fellow, anyway, and who 
knows? Perhaps you have learned some- 
thing here, so that in future, you may be a 
very good one?” 

With a vigorous handshake, Chinny now 


CHINNY” 


30 1 


slid over the ship’s side to the beach. “ If 
the breeze dies down,” he shouted, ‘‘don’t 
forget to sing some light air, and — look 
always up, and never down!” 

“I’ll remember. I might get ‘wetter 
than T ’ if I did n’t,” laughed Haven. 

Then the phantom ship began to glide 
noiselessly on her long journey. Haven 
tied his handkerchief to a stick and 
waved it at the sea-urchin who, putting 
his hands to his face, called out loudly: 
“Don’t ever be cross! Smile! Smile! 
Smile ! ” 

These words lingered strangely in 
Haven’s ears. He looked back at the sea- 
urchin standing there on the beach, his erect 
little figure sharply outlined against the 
white sand, and knew he should miss his 
cheerful companionship. Then — a sudden 
mist came before his eyes, and — he could see 
him no more. The beautiful island itself 


302 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

remained in sight for a few moments longer, 
when it too faded, until it was but a faint 
blur on the horizon. Then — even that dis- 
appeared, for the Fake S. S. Co. boat 
with but one passenger aboard, and a 
strong wind in her favor, sailed tre- 
mendously fasti 

Haven, remembering Chinny’s directions 
to “look up and never down,” stretched 
himself at full length on the velvety deck, 
and gazed at the blue sky, trying to recall 
all his strange experiences. After that, he 
never could remember whether he slept or 
not, but he was suddenly aroused by hear- 
ing a gentle grating noise under the ship! 
He jumped up, and to his delight, found 
that the mysterious boat had brought him in 
safety again, to his own beach ! His father’s 
house he could see dimly, through the gray 
mist which seemed to shroud everything, 
that day. How he got down from the boat, 


CHINNY 


303 


regained his size, and crossed the beach, 
Haven never could remember, but he sud- 
denly found himself at his father’s house. 
And just as he entered the door, the big 
solemn hall-clock struck: “One/" 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


i 

On a hot July day last summer, three 
sad-looking fathers were seated on a mossy 
log, near a big oak-tree. One of them 
said drearily: “Gentlemen, I have a child — 
Arabella Maud. She is a good child, too, 
but I am sorry to say that she has one 
serious fault. She is selfish!" 

“That is dreadful!” said the other two, 
sympathetically. 

“I am glad to say,” remarked the second 
papa, “that my little girl, Gwendoline 
Amelia, is not selfish, but, alas! she too, 
has a fault, for she is bad-tempered. She 
is what one would call a ‘cross’ child. It 

is a sad affliction, gentlemen, to have so 
304 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


305 


cross a child as Gwendoline Amelia,” and the 
poor man wiped his eyes, and sighed awfully. 

“I am in trouble, also,” said the third 
man, at this point, “my motherless child, 
Rosamond Ophelia, is not selfish nor is she 
cross, but — she has another grave fault. 
She is — untruthful. She tells lies!" At 
these words, the poor man burst into tears, 
while the others put their arms about him, 
and tried in vain to comfort him. 

“Would that we could do something,” 
cried the three in chorus; “something to 
rid our poor children of these serious faults.” 

The words had scarcely been spoken, 
when from behind the near-by oak-tree, a 
man stepped forward, who placing his hand 
upon his heart, bowed low before them ! 
The three fathers said nothing, but stared 
at him in utter amazement ! Indeed it was 
not surprising that they did, for he was cer- 
tainly not a common person. In spite of 


306 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

the sultry day, he was warmly dressed in 
heavy bearskins, and not only that, but 
long glittering icicles hung from him every- 
where ! His pointed fur cap was completely 
covered with a thin coating of ice, while 
little heaps of snow rested comfortably on 
his broad shoulders. He was breathing 
hard, and for a moment was unable to 
speak. The three papas were silent, too; 
their breath quite taken away by this 
extraordinary apparition. 

Then — “ How do you do, shentlemens?” 
remarked the newcomer, with a slight Ger- 
man accent. “Excuse my costumes, for 
I am direct from Polenski Batsh, North 
Siberia. I remove my four coats now, for 
der climate here does not seem to need dem. ” 

This he did, and underneath, was 
dressed as are most men, except that his 
shirt was of a vivid green color (which 
gave a charming spring-like touch to his 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


307 


costume). Then he turned quickly to the 
fathers, and rubbing his cold hands together, 
said briskly, “To beezness ! To beeznessl 
You called me. I am here.” 

“But, sir,” said one of the men timidly, 
“we do not understand. We did not call you.” 

“That is so,” agreed the other two. 

“Didn’t you say, that you had some 
naughty childrens, and that you wished you 
knew of some gut safe way of improving 
them ? ” enquired the stranger. 

“Yes, we certainly did say that,” admit- 
ted the three, “but ” 

“Veil then, I am the ‘vay.’ Dot is my 
special beezness — improving childrens. 
See!” and the stranger gave to the three 
astonished fathers a card, on which was 
printed in big clear letters : 

A. Lugner, 

Child-Improver, 

Terms Reasonable. Safe Method. 


3 o8 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“But,” objected the three gentlemen, 
“how do you — how can you ‘improve chil- 
dren?’ Do you take them away to do it? 
If so, we never would consent.” 

“Nor is it necessary,” said Mr. Liigner, 
with a winning smile. “ No, I improve der 
children right on the old home-ground, al- 
most while they wait. How ’t is done, is 
mein secret, but it’s a neat and thorough 
way. I have to see der childrens. I give 
them one treatments. I ask that a father or 
mother be present. But now, my time is 
short ; so bring der childrens at once — that 
is, if you wish to try my method.” 

Interested by what the strange man had 
said, and greatly pleased with his general 
appearance, the three gentlemen, after con- 
sulting for a moment, decided to try the 
Liigner treatment, and hurrying away, soon 
returned with the children. 

Mr. Liigner made the little girls stand in 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


3°9 


a row, and looked steadily at them for a 
moment. Then : 

“Arabella Maud, stand forth 1” he said. 
Arabella, looking somewhat frightened, 
obeyed. 

“I vash sorry to hear,” proceeded the 
man, “dot you are a selfish child. Now, I 
shall return in von week.” Here Mr. Liig- 
ner scowled, and then continued very slowly 
and impressively: “ During dose seven days, 
Arabella, whenever you are selfish, den — 
selfish, and keep on sel-fish-ing until you 
again are generous!” 

Arabella smiled at this, and said pertly, 
“ I do not know what you mean — it sounds 
like nonsense.” 

“You will soon understand,” said the 
Child-Improver, sternly, and Arabella, still 
smiling, stood back. 

“Gwendoline Amelia,” called Mr. Liigner, 
“stand forth!” and the little girl did so. 


3 io CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“I am told dot you are very cross.” 

Gwendoline frowned, and said: “Some 
people think so.” 

“Then — whenever you are cross, be cross 
until you are pleasant again / ” 

“That is an easy thing to do,” said Gwen- 
doline Amelia, frowning still more, however, 
as she said it. 

“What does the man mean by such non- 
sense?” cried her father indignantly. The 
Child-Improver paid no attention to this 
remark, but turned quickly to the third 
child. 

“Rosamond Ophelia, come here!” he 
commanded. “I am told dot you are 
untruthful.” 

Rosamond opened her lips to deny this, 
but finding Mr. Liigner’s piercing eyes fixed 
sternly upon her, she was afraid to do so, 
and remained silent. 

“ Answer. Do you tell lies ? ” he went on. 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


3 1 1 

“Yes,” whispered Rosamond, and in 
shame hung her head. 

“To you den,” said Mr. Liigner, “I say 
dis : whenever you lie , — lie and keep lying , 
until you tell der truth , once more.” 

Rosamond, like the other children, was 
much amused. 

“The man must be crazy,” whispered 
one of the fathers, “and we have wasted 
time talking to him.” 

“Now, shentlemens and childrens,” pro- 
ceeded the stranger, “kindly meet me here, 
von week from to-day. Fare you well. I 
go now to Kolenska, West Iceland, in one 
hour. There I shall need my every clothing.” 
So seizing his extra coats, Mr. Liigner put 
them on in a jiffy, and pulled his fur cap 
well down over his ears. Then he took his 
stout walking-stick, and threw it up into the 
air with all his strength. Jumping after it, 
he seized it firmly by its lower end, and 


312 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

pulled himself up by it! From there, he 
again threw it up high into the air, jumping 
after it a second time, and pulling himself 
up by it as before. This act he repeated 
over and over again, rising of course, higher 
each time, until at last, he disappeared from 
sight! All this was done so quickly, that 
the gazing people below had scarcely real- 
ized what was taking place before their eyes. 

“Well, friends,” cried Arabella’s father, 
excitedly, “a man who can do a thing like 
that, is no common man. I feel now, that 
after all, there may be some magic, in the 
silly sounding words he said to our chil- 
dren.” The others agreed as to this, and 
went cheerfully home, feeling much en- 
couraged. 

Arabella Maud and her parents lived in 
a big stone house on a hill. She had a lit- 
tle brother and sister, a Shetland pony, a 
dog, and a cat. A girl who had so much 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


3i3 


for which to be grateful ought never to have 
been selfish, ought she? After the after- 
noon’s experience, she tried hard all the 
evening, and was very generous to every- 
body. This happy state of things continued 
until she went to school the next day. Then, 
when the drawing-hour came, and the nice 
sharp pencils were being given out in class, 
Arabella, entirely forgetting her good reso- 
lutions, seized, as usual, the best pencil on 
the tray. No sooner had she done so, than 
she seemed to hear the squeaky voice of 
Mr. Liigner saying right in her ear: “Ara- 
bella Maud, the next time you are selfish, 
selfish!" The words were spoken so dis- 
tinctly, that she was startled, but something 
now happened which startled her still more, 
for the unfortunate little girl in spite of her- 
self, and not without knowing why, rose 
slowly from her seat, and opening her 
mouth cried : 


3 14 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Fish! Fish to sell! Nice fresh cod, 
mackerel, and haddock!!” 

Now, did you ever hear of anything like 
that? 

Arabella understood at last what Mr. 
Lugner had meant, by his odd-sounding 
words. When she was selfish, she was to 
sell fish! The teacher, however, did not 
understand, and was much vexed at what 
she thought was the little girl’s rude con- 
duct. 

“Arabella!” she said sternly, “stop this 
nonsense, at once!” 

She, poor child, although longing with 
all her heart to obey, was, of course, unable 
to do so. There she was forced to stand, 
the tears running down her cheeks, begging 
her school-mates to please buy her “nice 
fresh fish.” At first, the children all 
laughed, thinking it was a great joke, — and 
then they became frightened. Finally the 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


3i5 

teacher dismissed them, having made up 
her mind that poor Arabella must be ill. 

At that moment, a happy thought came 
to the child, for she remembered that Mr. 
Liigner had told her she was to sell fish un- 
til she became generous again. “Then I ’ll 
be generous, at once,” she said to herself; 
and hurrying to her desk, she took from it 
the good pencil, which had caused all the 
mischief in the beginning. Putting it back 
on the public tray, she chose a poorer one 
in its place. The result was magical, for 
no sooner had she done this generous thing 
than she stopped selling fish, immediately ! 

Her teacher, after hearing the wonderful 
story, kindly sent her home, and calling 
back the other children, explained matters. 

As the next day was Saturday, there was 
no school, and in the afternoon Arabella 
Maud took her small brother Sam to the 
drug shop at the corner for some soda. In 


3 i6 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

pouring it, the man happened to fill one glass 
fuller than the other. Arabella saw this, 
and forgetting her sad experience of the 
day before, selfishly seized the fuller one ! 
No sooner had she done so, however, than 
her mouth opened, and in spite of herself, 
she said to the clerk : 

“Can’t I sell you some fish, sir? I have 
nice fresh halibut and cod.” 

The man was of course surprised, but 
thinking that the little girl was joking 
smiled, and said: “Thank you, Miss, but I 
do not care for any fish to-day.” 

“Please buy,” urged Arabella Maud, “I 
have some delicious butterfish.” (She 
did n’t even know what a butterfish was, but 
her bewitched lips would say the words.) 

Sam, frightened at his sister’s strange 
conduct, burst into tears, while the man, 
evidently thinking that she was insane, put 
his hands on her shoulders, and said 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


3i7 


earnestly : “ I think you had better go home 
at once, little girl ! ” 

Arabella, still crying her “Fish, fresh fish 
to sell ! ” turned to obey, although the tears 
streamed over her cheeks at the awful 
thought of selling fish in the crowded 
public street. 

Just in time, she fortunately remembered 
what had saved her the day before. “I 
must do some generous thing,” she said. 
So hastening to the counter, she seized her 
full glass of soda and forced it upon her 
weeping brother, taking the other emptier 
one herself. And, as before, the result 
was most satisfactory, for she immediately 
stopped selling fish, and could again control 
her mouth. She and little Sam hurried 
home, where Arabella threw herself into her 
mother’s arms ! The two had a long talk 
together, and you will be glad to hear, that 
from that time on, Arabella Maud was a 


3 1 8 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

changed girl. She never sold any more 
fish, for she became as generous as gener- 
ous could be. Her father and mother never 
looked sad again, but smiled gaily, from 
morning till night! 

II 

Meanwhile cross little Gwendoline Amelia 
walked slowly home with her father, finally 
reaching the white ivy-covered house, where 
they lived. 

“Where have you two been?” called 
the mother cheerily, from the piazza. Papa 
told her the story of the afternoon’s doings, 
repeating what Mr. Liigner had said. 
Mamma was, of course, greatly interested, 
although she thought the stranger’s words 
sounded very foolish. “What could he 
have meant?” she asked. 

They were not to be kept long in doubt 
as to this, however. Gwendoline went into 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


3i9 


the house for her school-books, seated her- 
self before a table at one end of the shady 
piazza, and began to study. For ten min- 
utes or so she worked in silence, while her 
father and mother walked up and down the 
garden, arm in arm. Before long, Gwen- 
doline needed to look up a word in the 
dictionary, and not finding the book at once, 
she began to search for it, scattering her 
papers right and left, before she finally 
found it. 

“Oh, daughter, pick up your papers, — 
see, they are blowing all about,” called her 
mother. 

At this gentle reproof, Gwendoline Amelia 
flew into a passion. “I don’t want to pick 
them up. I don’t see why you are so par- 
ticular, Mother. Can’t you let me alone?” 
she said, crossly. 

These words had scarcely died away, when 
Gwendoline felt an odd twitching and pull- 


320 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


ing at her back. Then — to her amazement, 
her two long braids of hair suddenly flew up 
and crossed themselves, standing out stiffly, 
one at the right, one at the left, of her head ! 
Then came a queer tugging at her waist, her 
beautifully tied sash untied itself with a quick 
nervous jerk, while the two ends proceeded to 
cross and stood out rigidly, one on either 
side ! Next, her boots slowly unlaced them- 
selves (a rare thing for boots to do). Gwen- 
doline, fascinated, and too frightened to 
move, had been watching all these extra- 
ordinary happenings, which took place in 
a twinkling of an eye ! 

Suddenly, the child’s temper rose; she 
became very angry at seeing herself thus 
publicly undressed in broad daylight! 

“Stop unlacing,” she cried crossly to the 
shoe-strings, “stop this nonsense, at once ! ” 
but they paid no attention and continued to 
unlace, after which the two ends crossed ! 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


321 


“I command you to stop. I don’t like 
this business at all,” screamed the now fright- 
ened girl. But at this angry outburst, some- 
thing still more extraordinary happened, for 
her poor little arms began to fold themselves, 
one over the other — then her two legs 
crossed! She used all the strength that 
was in her to prevent these dreadful things 
happening, but was absolutely powerless. 

“Papa! Mamma!" she screamed. 

Both came running at her call, and 
when they beheld their child, twisted and 
crossed in such a horrible way, their terror 
equalled her own. 

“My darling ! ” cried her mother. “What 
has happened — why are you like this ? Are 
you having a fit?” 

As she gazed at her only child, to her un- 
speakable horror, Gwendoline’s eyes — her 
large beautiful eyes — began slowly to cross 
themselves! This was too much for the 


21 


322 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


poor mother, who fell fainting to the floor ! 
Gwendoline, helped by her distracted father, 
hobbled to a chair, where she sat down and 
buried her distorted face on her crossed arms. 



“When you are cross, you must cross, till you 
are pleasant.” 


“What can have happened to me?” she 
asked herself, despairingly. At that mo- 
ment, a shrill voice whispered, in answer: 

“I said that ‘when you were cross, you 
must cross, till you were pleasant.’” 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


3 2 3 


Gwendoline recognized at once, the voice 
of the Child-Improver. 

“Oh, then all this is Mr. Liigner’s work,” 
she thought bitterly ; “and I see now, exactly 
what he meant. He must be a powerful 
magician, for everything about me is cer- 
tainly cross — as cross as cross can be ! And 
he said that I should have to remain like 
this until I was pleasant. Then, if that ’s 
the case, I am going to be pleasant just as 
fast as I can!” So she removed the un- 
pleasant frown from her face immediately, 
and put in its place a pretty, winning smile. 
Then she began to sing gaily, although at 
heart, she felt anything but gay. 

No sooner had she done these things, 
than to her intense delight and relief, her 
eyes became slowly straight, while her legs 
and arms hurried to uncross themselves ! 

With difficulty, she then stooped and 
smilingly picked up her scattered papers. 


3 2 4 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

As soon as this was done, her two braids of 
hair uncrossed themselves, her pretty sash 
untwisted its ends, and running merrily 
round her waist, deftly tied itself behind, in 
fine fashion. Her boots became straight, 
too, while the lacings scampered to their 
different holes, and — to make a long story 
short — in a very few moments everything 
was in its place, and Gwendoline Amelia 
was as fully and neatly dressed as be- 
fore ! 

It was certainly most gratifying, and a 
real smile now came to the girl’s face, so 
that when her poor mother recovered from 
her fainting-fit, she saw before her, her own 
dear child. 

Meanwhile papa had arrived, bringing 
with him the family doctor. There was 
now really nothing for the latter to do how- 
ever, so he went home, first prescribing a 
tonic. But as this tonic was cod-liver oil, 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


3 2 5 


the parents did not make their child take it, 
as they thought she had suffered enough 
already. 

From that time on after her terrible ex- 
perience, Gwendoline Amelia was a changed 
girl, and always as pleasant as one could 
wish. As for her parents, they never 
looked sad again, but smiled from morning 
till night ! 

Ill 

After the talk with Mr. Lugner, the 
third little girl, Rosamond Ophelia, went 
home with her father. When they arrived, 
they called for Mary (the elder sister) and 
taking extra wraps, had a long ride in 
papa’s new automobile. It was dinner- 
time when they returned, and after dinner, 
tired Rosamond went to bed. She did not 
study her geography at all, so when the 
lesson-hour came at school next day, she 
could not answer any questions. 


32 6 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Rosamond Ophelia,” said Miss Tread- 
well, at last, “have you studied this les- 
son?” 

“Yes,” answered this naughty, untruth- 
ful child, “I studied it for over an hour last 
evening.” (She knew, of course, that in 
saying this, she had told a lie, and she felt 
far from comfortable.) Miss Treadwell, who 
was a very truthful Miss Treadwell, did not 
doubt Rosamond’s statement. She never 
even glanced at her again, until she heard 
a frightened cry from the other children ; 
when looking up, she beheld, to her horror, 
Rosamond Ophelia, floating in the air, just 
above the desks ! She could not believe 
her eyes at first, and gazed speechlessly at 
the child. There was certainly no doubt 
about it, for there lay the little girl, 
stretched at full length, with apparently 
nothing to support her ! 

“Rosamond Ophelia,” gasped Miss 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 327 

Treadwell, when she was able to speak at 
all, “descend, and come here at once.” 

“I — I — can’t,” said the poor girl, begin- 
ning to cry. 

“Why are you up there? What are 
you doing?” demanded the teacher sternly. 



“When you tell a lie, — then lie, until you tell 
the truth.” 


“Just lying down,” sobbed Rosamond. 

As she said this, there came a shrill whis- 
per in her ear. “ When you tell a lie, — then 
lie , until you tell the truth.” 

Rosamond recognized Mr. Liigner’s 
voice. “Oh, dear,” she said, “I see now, 
exactly what he meant. I have told a lie, so 


328 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

I must lie down, until I confess about the 
studying. I suppose I shall not be allowed 
to get down to the floor again, until I do ! 
How awful ! ” 

But for a moment she hesitated, ashamed 
to do this thing. 

Meanwhile the teacher, believing that 
some trick was being played, was really 
vexed. “Rosamond Ophelia,” she said 
sternly, “you are a very naughty little girl. 
I do not know, of course, how you manage 
to float up in the air, as you are now doing. 
But as you knew how to go up, you must 
also know how to come down again, and I 
insist upon you doing so, or — leaving the 
school at once.” 

At this, Rosamond burst into tears; but 
realizing that she could not remain floating 
there forever, she decided to tell the truth. 
So between sobs she made her confession. 
“I am suffering from a magic punishment,” 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 


329 


she whispered. “I — I — told a lie about the 
geography, Miss Treadwell, so I have to lie 
down like this. Indeed I can not help it.” 
Then she went on and told the whole story 
from the beginning. No sooner had she 
done so, than she floated down and stood 
upright upon her feet once more ! 

She was bitterly ashamed, of course, of 
having been obliged to confess before the 
whole class that she had told a lie, and Miss 
Treadwell seeing how she felt, very kindly 
sent her home. 

This sad experience was enough. Rosa- 
mond Ophelia never told another lie. From 
that day on, she became a changed girl and 
as truthful as an arithmetic. Her father was 
very, very happy, and smiled from morning 
until night! 

One week from this time the three 
broadly smiling fathers and the three good 
little girls went to meet Mr. Liigner again. 


3 3 o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

This time, they found that he had arrived 
at the meeting-place before them. 

“Straight from the Sunny South,” he 
said gaily; and indeed, for such a climate 
he was very prettily and appropriately 
dressed, in a pale blue cheese-cloth costume 
with many dainty ruffles. 

“Well,” said he, looking about, “I tink 
I see some satisfactions in dose faces.” 

“You certainly do,” said all the fathers, 
enthusiastically. 

“Stand up, childrens,” commanded the 
German. 

They did so. “Now, Arabella Maud,” 
he began, “has der selfishness gone out of 
you?” 

“It has,” she said. 

“Gwendoline Amelia,” he continued, “ is 
der crossness all left you ? ” 

“Entirely gone,” admitted the child, 
smilingly. 


THE CHILD-IMPROVER 331 

“And you, Rosamond Ophelia, how is it 
mit you? Have you decided not to tell 
more lies?” 

“I shall never tell a lie again,” she 
answered firmly. 

“It is goot. My work here is now done,” 
and Mr. Lugner smiled and bowed low 
before them. 

“But, sir,” cried the three fathers, “what 
do we owe? What shall we pay you for 
these remarkable cures ? ” 

“ I want no money, but if you are satis- 
fied mit me, just write your names here,” 
and the Child-Improver produced a book, 
on the outside of which was stamped in large 
gilt letters, the words 

“SATISFIED PARENTS" 

“You see,” he continued, “when this 
book is quite full, I shall get a prize — a 
beautiful and also a lovely prize ! ” 


332 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“What is the prize to be?” cried the 
three children. 

“A genuine terfillated Genlipellion, with 
a pithical-botular attachment,” cried Mr. 
Ltigner enthusiastically. 

Realizing how he must long to own so 
rare a thing as this, the three fathers hur- 
ried to add their names to the others, in the 
“ Satisfied Parents ” book. 

No sooner had they done so than a per- 
fectly enormous bat flew down from above, 
and alighted in front of them. Mr. Liigner 
did not seem surprised, but jumped lightly 
on the back of the creature, which then rose 
slowly with him. 

“ Fare you well, peoples,” he shouted; “I 
go now to get for myself three ice-cream sodas 
— a peach, a strawberry, and also a pineapple ! 
You see, I am so happy to have made you hap- 
py, that I wish to celebrate. In other words, 
I am (as you see),— going off on a bat!!" 


LOUISE’S MISCHIEF-DAY 


It was a warm day, and mamma had been 
washing little Louise’s hair. It was partly 
dry when she was suddenly called away for 
a moment, leaving her little girl seated in a 
sunny window. 

Now, Louise was generally a good child, 
but once in a great while she had a “mis- 
chief-day,” and this happened to be the very 
one! So the moment her mother left the 
room, what do you suppose she did ? She 
got up from the chair, ran to the wash-stand, 
and taking from it a bottle of hair-tonic, re- 
moved the cork, and without a moment’s 
hesitation, poured the whole — every single 
bit of it, over her head ! Did you ever hear 
of anything like that? 

333 


334 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

Now, unfortunately, as it happened, this 
particular hair-tonic was of a very un- 
common kind, being amazingly and extra- 
ordinarily powerful. One drop only, to a 



Poured the whole — every single bit of it, over her head. 

whole big gallon of water was to be used ! 
It told you this, on each of its four fat sides, 
but as it was Louise's mischief-day, she paid 
no attention, but tipped the bottle up and up, 
using all, to the very last sticky drop ! Then 


LOUISE’S MISCHIEF-DAY 335 

she hurried back to her chair, and seated 
herself. Almost at once, she began to be 
frightened at what she had done, for she 
noticed a most extraordinary feeling in her 
head, — an uncomfortable creepy sensation, 
followed by a queer tingling and prick- 
ing! 

“Oh, dear!” she whispered, “I’m most 
’fraid something is going to happen ! ” 

In a moment, she felt a soft touch, first 
on her neck, then on her shoulder! Next 
came an odd rustling noise behind her, and 
turning anxiously, she saw — a strange and 
frightening sight ! For there, upon the floor, 
if you can believe me, lay yards upon yards, 
upon more yards, of hair ! You see, the 
hair tonic, which the little girl had used in 
its full awful strength, had n’t waited one bit, 
but had began to tonic right away ! And 
so fast had it tonic-ed that poor little Louise’s 
hair had begun with instant instantaneous- 


336 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

ness, to grow — at about the rate of two feel a 
minute ! 

When the child looked behind her, there 
it lay on the floor, a great rippling golden 
mass, which was leaping and bounding 
eagerly, toward the open door! Jumping 
from her chair, the unfortunate girl rushed 
to the door, and screamed for her mother — 
a mother is badly needed at such a time ! 
On the way, she became tangled in her own 
hair, but freed herself, just as her frightened 
parent reached her. 

“My little girl! My darling!” cried 
mamma; “what has happened? and where 
did all this hair come from?” 

“ It came from me!” sobbed Louise ; and 
controlling herself, she told the story of 
what she had done. Not stopping for talk, 
the mother seized the shears, and quickly 
cut the hair off. Then hurrying to the wash- 
stand, she rubbed and scrubbed and 


LOUISE’S MISCHIEF-DAY 337 

scrubbed and rubbed her child’s head, in a 
frantic endeavor to wash away the tonic. 
This treatment helped somewhat, by slow- 
ing things up a bit, the hair growing now, 
at the rate of only one foot each minute, 
which was, of course, quite a relief I But 
even this was bad enough, horrible in fact, 
and the poor mother, seeing that she could 
do no more, was almost frightened to death I 
The doctor and then two barbers were 
hurriedly summoned, and papa, who was 
in New York, was telegraphed to. Louise 
was put into a vacant room on a comfort- 
able chair, her hair thrown over its back; 
and the two strong barber-men barbered as 
hard as they could ! The doctor was un- 
able to do anything, and poor mamma 
stood there, helplessly wringing her hands, 
listening to the “ click-e-ty click,” and “snip- 
per-ty snip” of the busy shears, and to the 
other strange noise, which the hair itself 



as they could. 
338 


LOUISE’S MISCHIEF-DAY 


339 


made as it grew ! Few people have heard 
this ; it is a thick, surging oily sound im- 
possible to describe. Well, these two strong 
barbers continued to barb, first one and then 
the other, all through that long dreary after- 
noon. The room kept getting full of the 
cut-off hair, although mamma and the 
three maids brought in empty baskets, 
which they would fill and remove, fill and 
remove. Food was served to them and to 
Louise on trays. The hours hurried on. 
Finally, at two minutes before six, one bar- 
ber looked questioningly at the other, and 
the other looked back answeringly at the 
one, and they both nodded. As six o’clock 
struck, both men stopped short, not even 
taking down their scissors, but leaving them 
lying right up in the air, where they were ! 
Then, folding their aprons, they put on their 
hats. 

“But — but — what does this mean? 


340 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

Where are you going?” cried Louise and 
her mother. 

“Home,” said the two barbers; “we are 
Union Men, and are forbidden to work after 
six, P.M.” 

“Oh, but surely you will stay for a sad 
case like this!” pleaded mamma. “I will 
pay you extra.” But the two men sternly 
refused, and moved toward the door! 

“Then will you teach me how to cut, so 
that I won’t get tired so quickly?” cried 
mamma, at last. 

“Well,” said one man, “if you will 
become a member of the Ladies’ Barbers’ 
Union, I will teach you, madam ; but after 
all, that would do no good, for they would 
forbid you to work after six o’clock. We 
are sorry for you, but we must bid you good 
evening.” And off the two went! 

Meanwhile the hair kept growing like 
mad, and was now so long that both the 


LOUISE’S MISCHIEF-DAY 


34i 


head and foot barber had actually to jump 
high over it, to get out of the room ! The 
mother took the heavy shears and sat by her 
child, roughly cut — cut — cutting as well as 
she could, poor woman, until from fatigue 
she could cut no more ! 

Then the doctor, who had dropped in 
again for a moment, took a hand, too, and 
finally each of the maids, but at last, all 
became perfectly exhausted and had to rest. 
First, however, they put little Louise to bed, 
hoping that the hair, too, would take a rest; 
but they were mistaken, for, as it belonged 
to no union, it worked night and day! 
Mamma wisely directed its course out of the 
window, when it scampered nimbly down 
the house, until it reached the ground. 
There, the delighted neighbors cut it off 
and took it home, to make it up into fine 
mattresses and hair-pillows. But at last, 
everyone had more than enough even for 


342 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


these pleasant purposes, and all went home, 
leaving the hair alone. And it went on 
growing ! On and on and on, and — more 
on I 

The midnight train brought papa, who 
had hurried home as soon as he heard of 
the things which were happening. After 
talking with mamma, he said : 

“This cannot continue, my dear. Some- 
thing has got to be done ! Now, first, who 
makes the tonic? Let ’s have a look at the 
bottle.” He examined it carefully. It was 
odd-looking, square, dark-brown in color, 
and covered with queer blue polka-dots. 
Its glass stopper was blue too, and very 
tall and pointed. On all four sides of the 
bottle, there were careful directions as to 
how to use the tonic, and many remarks 
as to its wonderfulness, and delightsome- 
ness. 

“But who makes it?” shouted papa. 


LOUISE’S MISCHIEF-DAY 343 

“That’s the question. If I can find the 
man who makes the stuff, I feel sure he can 
help us.” 

But alas ! there was no name on any of 
the four sides. Suddenly papa noticed a 
rough feeling underneath, and turning the 
bottle upside down, found what he was 
after. For there, in raised letters were 
these words : “ Hair-Hastener, made by H. 
Higgs, 23 Humburg Street.” 

Papa hurried to the telephone and called 
up Mr. Higgs, who fortunately happened 
to be at home. He got up, dressed him- 
self, and came to them at once, where he 
was told the story of their misfortune. 

“You know what is in this tonic, sir, 
now will you help us?” begged the fright- 
ened parents. “ Can you tell us what to do 
to make our child’s hair stop growing?” 

“To stop it?” repeated Higgs. “Well, 
well! It is a wonderful tonic, isn’t it?” 


344 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

and he pointed proudly at the mountain of 
hair lying on the floor. 

“Indeed it is. Far too wonderful for 
most families,” agreed papa. 

“But, oh, Mr. Higgs, we beg you to 
hurry. Take pity on our little child ! If 
you can stop her hair growing — know how 
to stop her, and will stop her, won’t you 
stop her?” 

“Stop her? Yes, I’ll stop her — but, 
talking of ‘stop her,’ reminds me of some- 
thing,” continued Mr. Higgs calmly. “ Have 
you people paid any attention to the stop- 
per of this bottle? It is syncoplated you 
see, and has also the fashionable hyphren- 
etted neck ” 

“Yes, yes,” interrupted the now frantic 
mother; “but Mr. Higgs, you cannot expect 
us to be interested in stoppers, however 
beautiful, when our poor suffering child ” 

“That’s just it,” said Higgs, “for I was 


LOUISE’S MISCHIEF-DAY 


345 


about to say, that this stopper is so made, 
that it will — stop hair growing!” 

“What?” screamed the mother, “it will 
stop Louise’s hair growing? Stop her?” 

“Stop her?” echoed the father. 

“Stop her — yes. What’s a stopper for, 
anyway?” said Higgs. 

But at this point, mamma, waiting to hear 
no more, seized the cork from the talkative 
Higgs, and rushed to Louise’s side ! 

First, with papa’s help, she cut off the 
heavy hair (whose ends were now far off, 
hurrying through one of the city’s quiet 
streets). This done, she took the glass 
cork, rubbed it thoroughly and vigorously 
all over her afflicted child’s head, and then 
she and papa awaited the result in deepest 
anxiety ! 

The effect of this treatment was simply 
magical. The thick, oily noise which the 
hair had made, while growing, ceased 


346 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

immediately, while the hair itself remained 
short — not even a fuzzy suspicion of new 
growth was to be seen ! Neither father nor 
mother was able to speak for a moment, so 
intense was their relief. 

Then — •“How wonderful! how marvel- 
lous!" they cried. Little Louise was now 
sitting upon the sofa, blinking sleepily at Mr. 
Higgs and feeling weak and unlike her- 
self ; for it had been pretty hard work for a 
small girl to grow so much hair, so very 
quickly, you know. 

After receiving a handsome present and 
the heartfelt thanks of the entire family, 
Mr. Higgs bade them an affectionate fare- 
well and went home. 

But I am sorry to say, that in about seven 
weeks, the poor man became ill, with a 
severe attack of the Scarlet-Whooping- 
Measles. In a short time he died, and 
with him, alas ! died the secret of how to 


LOUISE’S MISCHIEF-DAY 347 


make the hair-tonic. Now, no matter how 
hard one may try, one cannot buy a single 
drop of “ Higgs’ Hair-Hastener,” anyhow, 
when, nor even where! 


THE WORSTED DOG 


There was once a Blue Worsted Dog who 
lived in a Rug before a wide cheerful fire- 
place in a house not far from yours. This 
Rug had been made in Delft, a very far- 
away city in Holland, and as soon as it was 
finished, it had been brought across the wide 
waters to America. The Blue Dog was 
too young at the time to remember this, 
and as far back as he knew, he had 
lived right there in the middle of the warm 
Rug. 

Over the fireplace where he lay there was 
a mantel, and on its ends stood two Delft 
China people — a little Boy and a little Girl. 
The Boy was a square, sturdy-looking fellow, 

with very wide trousers and bulgy jacket. 

348 


THE WORSTED DOG 


349 


He was smiling down upon his broad blue 
shoes, which he seemed to think were very- 
funny — anyway, he had been smiling at 
them for several years ! 

His little Sister, who lived at the other 
end of the shelf, was beautiful in her tall, 
be-frilled cap, and full blue and white dress. 
She was not looking down at her shoes, 
but held her lovely little head proudly erect, 
while she gazed with wide-open eyes at 
another part of the room. 

Now, the Blue Worsted Dog admired 
the China Lady very much, and longed to 
have her speak to him. But, although he 
spent all his time telling her how lovely she 
was, she answered — never a word I 

Every night, when the sun went off with 
itself down behind the hill, the House- 
Mistress would bring the big, perfectly white 
Cat, “Sapolio,” and put him in his sleep- 
basket by the door. Sapolio was fat and 


350 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

lazy, and would roll himself at once, into a 
neat ball — and go to sleep. 

One day the Worsted Dog discovered 
that it was the Cat at whom the China Lady 
was looking so earnestly. He did not like 
this, so he begged her to looked at him in- 
stead of at Sapolio. “Why, he’s nothing 
but a real Cat,’’ he said contemptuously. 
As the poet says : 

“ Though, white and clean and fat, I know, 

He’s nothing but — Sapolio, 

While I am Delft, and soft and blue, 

And worsted, through and through and 
through.” 

“The Cat is awful selfish, too,” he added. 
“He never even looks at you!” 

At this, the Maiden sighed distressfully, 
but said — nothing. 

Then the Worsted Dog turned to the 
China Boy, at the other end of the 
shelf. 


THE WORSTED DOG 


35i 


“Tell me, Boy,” he asked, “why does 
the Lovely Lady refuse to be my friend?” 

Now, the China Boy had never been 
spoken to before, since he had been baked, 
and he was so surprised, that he gave a big 
jump and almost fell over! Then he said 
in a dry cracked voice : 

“ My friend, I have noticed what you speak 
of myself, and I must say that my Sister is 
not polite. Sapolio is, as you say, nothing 
but a common real Cat, while we — we are 
from Delft!” 

“Can’t you help me?” implored the 
Worsted Dog. 

“Well,” remarked the Boy thoughtfully; 
“it is of course just possible that my Sister 
cannot see you — you lie so quietly at her 
feet. Now if you were to stand up, and 
trot round a bit, she would probably notice 
you at once. 

The Worsted Dog was quite taken aback ! 


352 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

“Dear me!” he cried, “I do not think I 
could do that ! ” 

“Oh, I see, you have but one side to 
yourself. Some are made that way, I 
know,” said the China Boy, sympathetic- 
ally. “In that case, you had better keep 
on lying flat, just as you are.” 

“No, no, you are quite mistaken. My 
sides are exactly alike,” cried the Worsted 
Dog, indignantly; “I can scarcely tell which 
is which,” and his shoe-button eyes snapped 
with excitement. “No, China Boy, the 
difficulty is not that — but this. I am at- 
tached to my home.” 

“Ah, so am I,” said the Delft Boy, 
sentimentally. 

“ Don ’t make silly jokes,” snapped the 
Dog. “ I mean I can’t get away from my 
home, for I am sewed in! However, if 
you really think that your dear Sister would 
like me better if I broke away from the Rug 


THE WORSTED DOG 


353 


and ran round the room once or twice, why 
I will Iry to do it!" 

“Brave fellow! Do so!” said the Boy; 
and then, looking down again at his ridicu- 
lous blue boots, he put on his wide grin 
and said nothing more. 

The Worsted Dog, having made up his 
mind, lost no time in carrying out his plan. 

“The first thing for me to do is to free 
myself from the Rug,” said he. So he began 
to wrench and pull, to yank and tug with 
all his might, and then with all his main. 

“O-o-h!” cried the poor Rug, “Lie 
Down ! Charge /” But the Worsted Dog 
was like other dogs, for he wouldn’t obey. 

“Dear me!” moaned the Rug, “what a 
restless centre-piece I have. I thought I 
had suffered enough when I came across 
that big humping ocean, but this is much 
worse. O-o-h! what is the Dog trying to 
do?” 


23 


354 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

He, meanwhile, had succeeded in freeing 
both his front paws. They were a great 
help, and with them he scratched and 
clawed hard, and in a very short time suc- 
ceeded in pulling away his head, too. That 
is, he freed all but the very tip-est tip of 
his poor little nose. This was sewed in 
with a cruel firmness, and as the nose was 
particularly sensitive, the little Dog hesitated 
for a moment. Then, with splendid cour- 
age, he braced his two feet resolutely, gave 
a mighty wrench, and although he could not 
help giving a wee yelp of pain, he suc- 
ceeded at last, and lifted his head proudly! 
To free his hind-quarters was now an easy 
matter, and in a very short time the last 
thread was broken, and the Dog was free. 
Out he jumped nimbly from his old home- 
hole. He tried to stand, but at first was 
unable to do so, as his wobbly worsted legs 
refused to do anything but wobble. This 


THE WORSTED DOG 


355 


quickly passed, however. He grew stronger 
and firmer every minute, and was soon able 
to stand with ease. Just then he heard 
some one coming, and crouched down 
quickly into his rug-hole, as he did not wish 
to be seen. 

The Mistress entered the room, bearing 
in her arms the Cat, which she placed in 
the basket by the door. Sapolio wasted no 
time, but proceeded at once, to go round 
and round and round, as usual. Then he 
stopped, licked his front paw thoughtfully, 
and turned some more times in the other 
direction after which he cautiously lay down 
and shut his eyes. 

The Mistress walked to the fire-place, 
poked the fire which burned up brightly, and 
put the fender before it ; so that if it became 
excited, it could not jump out into the room. 
Then she went away for the night. As the 
door “clicked” behind her, the Worsted 


356 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

Dog rose slowly to his feet and took a few 
uncertain steps. All went well, so he walked 
back and forth a few times in front of the 
fire. He was a pretty little fellow, having, 
like all his family, a rugged and well-knit 
figure. 

“How do I look?” he asked the Rug. 

“You look like a very disobedient pup,” 
was the cross answer. 

Not discouraged by this snub, the little 
Dog began to trot faster and still faster, till 
at last, he went at top speed round the room. 
He called gaily to the China Girl, “Dear 
Delft Damsel, look upon me! See what 
I have done to please you!” 

But alas ! to his great disappointment, the 
Little Lady did not look at him, even now, 
but kept her eyes steadily upon the Cat- 
basket by the door. 

Then, the Worsted Dog decided that he 
would make a call upon the Cat, see what 


THE WORSTED DOG 


357 


sort of fellow he was, and why he was so 
charming. So he walked bravely up to the 
basket, and looked in, his worsted curls 
shaking with excitement. 

The brightly burning fire made the room 
almost as light as day. At this moment, 
the Cat happened to turn over and found 
himself looking directly into the lovely shoe- 
button eyes of the Worsted Dog ! 

With a loud shocked “ Miau / ” he jumped 
up quickly, and gazed in dismay at his 
caller. When he saw the Dog’s blue color, 
worsted curls, and glittering button-eyes, he 
was frightened almost out of his senses! 
He humped his back, spit some angry spits, 
and then crouched, threateningly. 

At this, the Worsted Dog showed no 
fear. On the contrary, he came nearer, 
inch by inch. 

The Cat, finding that the things he had 
done, had not frightened the enemy, made 


358 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

up his mind that the only thing to do now 
was to run — and to run fast! 

It was a great surprise to the Worsted 
Dog to see so brave a Cat run so swiftly, 
and he stood there, staring after him. The 
Delft Boy, who had been watching the two 
for the last ten minutes, called down ex- 
citedly, “ Chase him ! Now is your chance, 
Worsty, for he is afraid of you! Go for 
him!” 

“I will,” cried the Dog, his rich worsted 
voice trembling excitedly. 

So round he quickly scampered after 
Sapolio. And he, finding that the Dog 
was in pursuit, ran for his life ! Round he 
flew and round-er flew the Dog, after him ! 
In the past Puss had met many a fierce dog, 
but never had he had an enemy like this. 

What frightened him most, was the si- 
lence of the beast. His footsteps were noise- 
less, and never a bark nor growl nor snarl 


THE WORSTED DOG 


359 


came from the tight-shut red worsted lips 1 

“He is only knitted — he must soon get 
tired,” thought the poor Cat to himself, and 
he ran faster yet, but alas, faster yet ran the 
Dog! 

Sapolio did n’t even notice where he was 
going now, and soon knocked over a vase, 
which fell with a crash / Then, hurrying on, 
he next ran into the tongs and bang ! down 
they clattered! A poor innocent rubber 
plant was the next thing to suffer, and over 
it went without a protest, lying at full length 
on the floor. 

Alarmed at all this, the Cat now leaped 
to the top of a table, hoping for safety there, 
but — without a moment’s pause, after him 
stole the stealthy Dog ! 

“ Good!” “Didn’t think you could get 
up there ! ” cried the China Boy at this point. 
The Worsted Dog was surprised himself, 
for it was quite an art to jump on to a table. 


3 6o CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

After having done so, he felt that he should 
be able to follow wherever the Cat might 
lead. Looking over at the Delft Lady, he 
found to his delight, that she was watching 
the chase with interest. Down from the 
table hurried Sapolio, hitting, alas ! as he 
jumped, the pretty lamp, which fell to the 
floor with a loud crash ! breaking in many 
pieces, and spilling the oil all over the floor. 

The Cat was now beginning to lose his 
breath. He was a dignified, well-fed animal 
and it had been a long time since he had 
ran so fast as this! He realized that he 
could not keep up the swift pace much 
longer. So he looked about and then, with 
a despairing gasp, he gave a mighty jump, 
way up on to the mantelpiece itself, knock- 
ing over a beautiful tall vase, as he did so ! 

The Worsted Dog was frantic at seeing 
Sapolio up on the mantel, and so near the 
Lovely Lady, and gathering himself to- 


THE WORSTED DOG 


361 



gether, was about to follow, when he sud- 
denly heard footsteps — someone was 
coming ! 

Knowing that it would never do for him 
to be caught, he scurried with all speed to 
his Rug, and lay down flatly in his empty 
hole. 

The door was now opened, and the 
Mistress, dressed in a long wrapper, entered 
the room, turning on the electric light, as 
she did so. 


“Is anybody here?” she asked. 



362 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

No answer. 

“Who is making all this noise ? ” she went 
on. 

Still no answer. Then the young girl 
caught sight of the Cat on the mantelpiece. 

“Ah ha!” said she, “I understand. It 
was you, Sapolio?” Then, looking about 
the disordered room, she went on sternly. 
“You naughty kitty. I shall punish you 
for this.” 

But the Cat, poor fellow, did not wish to 
be punished for something for which he was 
really not to blame. To have first, a queer 
unnatural Worsted Dog, chase you round the 
room, and then your own dear Mistress was 
a little too much, he thought. So as she 
came near, Sapolio ran along the shelf to 
get away, and gave a desperate leap, right 
over the China Lady, and down on to the 
floor! But alas! He did n’t leap the leap 
quite high enough, and his left hind foot 


THE WORSTED DOG 


363 


struck the stylish high-frilled cap of the dear 
Little Lady, who tot-tot-tottered after him, 
down on to the floor below ! But she wasn’t 
in the least killed — for where do you think 
she fell ? Directly on to the middle of the 
Rug where lay the Worsted Dog ! He with 
his thick fluffy curls, kept the Little Lady 
from all harm. The Dog was too happy for 
words, — he simply could n’t speak! 

Meanwhile the Cat was to be pitied, poor 
fellow, for he was being chased within an 
inch of his life, by his active young Mistress. 
Round ran the two, scarce stopping for 
breath. At last, Sapolio was cornered and 
caught. 

He at once miau-ed, a very full and true 
account of the whole affair, but alas ! young 
Mistresses never understand even the sim- 
plest cat-talk. She listened, and proceeded 
to scold him severely, for having broken 
all her pretty things. Then she picked up 


364 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

the rubber-plant and the China Lady, whom 
she was very glad to find unhurt. Next she 
noticed the queer, rumpled-up look of the 
Worsted Dog, and upon examination, 
found that he was loose! She lifted him 
up. 

“So you even scratched this poor, inno- 
cent little Dog out of his hole, with your 
sharp naughty claws, did you?” At this, 
Sapolio turned sad reproachful eyes upon 
the young girl, for it was pretty hard to be 
accused of having scratched up that hateful 
little Dog, who had been the cause of all 
the mischief! 

“Now, Sapolio,” proceeded the young 
Mistress, “I am going to take you away. 
Never again shall you sleep in this room.” 

This was a most pleasant punishment. 
The Cat was delighted, and so was the 
Worsted Dog. The little Delft Lady — 
did n’t care ! 


THE WORSTED DOG 


365 


The next day, the room was put in order, 
and the lamp and vases mended. Then 
young Mistress bought some strong linen 
thread — thread as strong as a prize-fighter, 
and she sewed the Dog firmly into the Rug. 
With such unusual firmness did she sew 
him, in fact, that by no possible effort 
could he ever get away again ! 

But now that he had the friendship of the 
China Lady, he was perfectly happy just to 
lie quietly there and look up at her, and 
have her look back at him. 


THE STORY OF THE CEILING- 
PEOPLE AND OTHERS 

(As told by their friend Philip — aged five) 


CHAPTER ONE 

They live up on the Ceiling, and they 
’re all my friends, Mamma. Their names 
are Elna, and there’s Elna’s-Papa, an’ El- 
na’s-Papa’ s-Mary, too. They’ve got every 
furniture — except beds. They don’t need 
beds, ’cos they only sleep one hour in the 
night-time, an’ they alwuz sleep standing 
up. They are cooking every minute, for 
they eat an’ eat. They eat so to keep their- 
selves happy, an’ they smile all the time. 

They’s two Osmet-birds that fly under 
the Ceiling-world. They are big, dim gray 
birds, an’ alwuz fly away from yer! They 

366 


THE CEILING-PEOPLE 


367 


neves, stop, ’cos their stopping-part got 
broke when they was little. They catch 
worms an’ bugs, an’ give ’em away; an’ 
they eat puffed rice, theirselves. It ’s very 
gray an’ very misty, up in the Ceiling- 
country. It rains a lot there. It begins 
to rain at three in the morning, an’ it 
r-a-i-n-s till a few minutes to four, an’ then 
it stops (for a little while). An’ at four, it 
begins again, an’ it r-a-i-n-s till almost five, 
an’ then it stops (for a little while). An’ at 
five, it begins to r-a-i-n again, an’ it rains- 
an’-stops, rains-an’-stops, rains-an’-stops, 
all the day an’ all the night — forever ! 

There ’s four dogs up there, an’ their 
names is Hedjinal, Gyoing-Gyon, Sangan, 
an’ Perswire ; an’ there ’s four cats called 
the Greeds, an’ two Under-cats — Snifer an’ 
Neffort. They ’ve got one dear little canary 
too, called Vitzt, an’ he ’s got teeth ■' 

Everybody is so exprised he ’s got teethl 


368 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 


I bought him myself and I choosed a teeth- 
ing one, so ’s he could eat cwisp toast. He 
sings a lot, for — he has n’t any time to stop. 
He ’s the only canary up there to sing for 
all those many Ceiling-people, yer know. 
Hedjinal, Gyoing-Gyon, an’ the Greeds, 
slide down every day into Our-World on 
a big board, with a hinge at the top. The 
dogs go every day to Siarner. Siarner’s a 
place, yer know, just a place (for dogs to go 
to). 

The Greeds are alwuz very frightened 
animals. You must be careful to speak 
very soft an’ tender to ’em, for when you 
speak loudly, they melt ! Melt ’way back 
d-e-e-p into the grayness again, an’ yer 
don’t see ’em till the next day — ever ! 

CHAPTER TWO 

I had a birthday to-day, an’ they gave 
me two dolls — “ Gizard ” an’ “ Hare-O.” I 
named ’em both. I had a brown bear too 


THE CEILING-PEOPLE 369 

— “Percheel Harmona.” But his name is 
so long, I call him “Percheel” alwuz, an’ 
he loves me. 

I can feel Percheel an’ Gizard with my 
hands, an’ everybody can see ’em too. 
But, everybody can’t see my Ceiling-people, 
’cept me, ’cos they don’t know the really 
right way to look at ’em. You alwuz 
have to look at ’em th z puffic'ly right way, 
or you can’t see ’em at all, yer know! 

CHAPTER THREE 

When I went to Grandma’s to-day, I 
found a new clock. She did n’t know it 
was there, so I had to tell her ’bout it, an’ 
she was exprised when I told her it was 
standing right in the corner of her library 
on the floor. Grandy said she really did n’t 
want a clock there, ’cos she wanted ’em to 
sweep the floor sometimes, but I told her that 
this clock, was the kind that would hump 


370 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

itself up, an’ let yer sweep under it, an’ 
when you’d finished, would unhump itself 
again ; an’ go on ticking, all the time ! Yer 
see, Grandy didn’t know what kind of a 
clock it was, till I told her, but she said 
that if I was sure it was a real “humper,” 
she did n’t have any ob-jec-tions to it, an’ 
that it might re-main there. 

When clocks pen-du-lums is cold, they 
alwuz tick v-e-r-y slowly. I put one of 
Elna’s cold Ceiling-clocks on the register to- 
day, to hotten it up, an’ Mamma came in, an’ 
she went there an’ did n’t see it, an’ stepped 
right on it, an’ smashed it awf'ly — -(an’ I 
cried !) 

CHAPTER FOUR 

There are only but two Hong-gars in 
the world. They live in woods, an’ have 
to stay there alwuz. They are trying to 
get at people, but course people all know 


THE CEILING-PEOPLE 


37i 


’em, an’ go around where they live. One 
lives in the woods in New York, the Other 
One — does n't / 

No one goes into the New York woods 
— ever! The Hong-gars are just as big 
round as a house, an’ a little more higher, 
than the very highest building. Their bod- 
ies are green, an’ their heads are white, an’ 
they’re callorsic an’ prenoxious / Each of 
’em has twelve little babies ! 

Ambwid is ’nother place you alwuz have 
to go round of, very careful. Outside it, 
there ’s a wall of awful big chicken-rocks, 
an’ when they see you coming, they say: 
“ There ’s a little boy. Let ’s trip him up ! ” 
So they reach way down deep inside of 
theirselves, an’ then when you step on 
’em, you fall right down ! The Ambwid 
people are Catchers too. They glue yer 
to the ground, if they catch yer, an’ they rub 
on something that statues you, rightaway- 


372 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

quick / An’ no one can ever get unstatued 
again ! 

CHAPTER FIVE 

I found a little baby on Mamma’s sofa- 
pillow to-day, an’ it was dreadf’ly cunning. 
It had two very shining eyes, an’ its name 
was Columba Edgewell. It came from 
Branx — which is a very far-away place. 
Mamma said it was only a make-believe 
baby, but I was sure it was real, ’cos I 
could see it myself, yer know. I kicked the 
pillow high, an’ Mamma said that if a real 
baby had been there that he would n’t like 
to be kicked like that, but I told her that 
Columba Edgewell was n’t a usual kind of 
a baby at all, an’ that he just loved to be 
kicked, an’ the more I kicked him, — the 
happier he growed I 

Columba sleeps on his pillow up on the 
Ceiling, every night, an’ Elna’s-Papa feeds 
him every seven minutes I 


THE CEILING-PEOPLE 


373 


CHAPTER SIX 

What you s’pose happened to Elna’s- 
Papa’s-Mary to-day? She was walking 
on the street, when a little child came 
running very fast to her, an ’ — cut her legs 
off! Both of ’em ! An’ it was n’t a naxident, 
for she meant to cut ’em off! She was n’t 
a nice child at all, yer know. She was very 
naughty indeed, an’ fin’ly she grew so awful 
bad, that the world just couldn’t stand her 
any more. So they took her, an’ they 
burned her to a cwisp cinder ; Yer see — the 
world could stand the cinder, when they 
could n't stand the child! ! 

LAST CHAPTER 

Sometimes, when I go in my room an’ 
shut the door, my Ceiling-people talk to me, 
an’ I listen, an’ never interroop. They ’ve 
got very thin soft voices, just b-a-r-e-l-y 
loud enough for me to hear. They tell me 
long stories, an’ they talk an’ talk 


374 CAN YOU BELIEVE ME STORIES 

An’ every night, after I say my prayers, 
an’ the Fam’ly go out of my nursery-room, 
I wait a minute till everything is puffic’ly 
quiet, an’ then I call up : 

“ Good-night, Ceiling-people ! ” 

An’ then — there ’s a funny little rustling 
up there, an’ I hear a sort of bending-down 
noise, an’ then far-away voices call down 
to me: 

“ Good-night, Phil-ip! Good-night /” 

























































































































































































































































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NOV 11 1 1909 








